I know it all, dear.
I saw you.
I watched you.
I knew you would do it.
Do you forget I made you?
Do you forget I know you?
Do you forget I love you?
Why are you turning away from me?
Come back to me, Dearly Beloved Fool.
My arms are open.
I don't want you to leave.
I don't push you away.
I don't hate you for failing–
For you are, after all, just a Fool,
And I concede that.
I am not angry.
I am not wrathful.
Might I punish you? Yes.
But will I do so by rejecting you?
Put down the whipping rod, my dearest Fool.
I'm not here to whip you.
I'm here to kiss away the bruises you gave yourself in
(I commanded no such thing, by the way.)
You poor, idiot Fool, don't you see it yet?
Stop being angry at yourself!
Stop acting like the slave you were!
Stop serving your previous Master!
I have killed him, don't you see?
He is dead;
He cannot harm anything that belongs to me,
And you are mine,
A beautiful Fool.
I love you.
I want you.
I will heal you with me.
Give me the whipping rod;
My grace fulfills its need now.
There is nothing you need but me.
Let me kiss you–
It doesn't matter now.
Not with me.
© Copyright 2016 Iskah E Shirah. All rights reserved.
Poem / Poetry
Poem / Romance
Poem / Poetry
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