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Sep 2008
Thrall
That I Am
a poem
by Matthew L. Cole
Copyright © 2008 Matthew L. Cole.
All rights reserved.
I dance for the multiplicity and I groan for
The head, thrall that I am, whipping boy that I was,
Their faces a tabernacle of strength, lines along their brows,
Their hair askew and uncombed, the wind at their backs, they could be
From heaven, from Detroit, I could be from there too
Waiting for their commands, I could be from
Cleveland or Cairo and following them and I could be from
Mars, a slinky Scaramouch wearing a smile and then with
A red nose at their disposal and another one over their mouths
Bending to hold my face up, wearing the collar that binds me
Underfoot with deep regret and a white face
Blackness falls on my feet and neat little pools of sweat form
Rings around the floor where I stood for them
Near a Oak tree, only by chance, fate
Just a mistake—I dream to be free, free from the
Life of a thrall, slave to no one—outright to the sky.
Contact the Author - mattcolewriter@msn.com
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