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My Captor, Like Art

Poetry By: Phoebe Kishbaugh

poem i wrote about a year ago, maybe more..

Submitted:Feb 2, 2012    Reads: 27    Comments: 6    Likes: 4   

In this house of many rooms I wait,

For someone good to find me,

And as I stare at the iron gate,

May captor comes behind me.

He laughs at my attempts to flee,

And smiles as I stare,

I wonder if I'll ever be free,

Or if anyone would care.

His teeth are white as glistening sand,

His skin as clear as day,

His eyes are bright, his gestures grand,

He's almost perfect, I would say.

His only flaw is in his soul,

He lacks a decent heart,

Each of these is black as coal,

Even if he looks like art.

I evade his grasp and find a door,

I quickly hide inside,

He isn't laughing anymore,

Is this the way outside?

Instead of trees and grass I find,

Another door awaiting,

The other door is locked behind,

And there's no way of escaping!

I scream until my throat is raw,

I cry until it's sore,

I wish now that I never saw,

The temptation of a door.

Just when all my hope is gone,

I hear my captor's voice,

He says I am allowed back in,

But it is all my choice.

If I am good, if I behave,

He'll forgive me for my error,

I nod and laugh and scream and rave,

Blinded by my terror.

With my consent, my desperate plea,

He pulls me from the chamber,

He's now become the "someone good",

That rescued me from danger.


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