slave poetry

i sit in corner waiting for master to call,
he is only one to who I listen,
he is the healer,
he is the one I am most proud of,
he calls
I come offering him my head ,
he calls out in command,
I am his and he knows this,
never questioning, never wanting for what is to want for when all is taken care,
my body speaks to him he knows,
a word I never need to speak again,for he know me as he knows him self,
by way of this power I am free,
free to love and be loved,to feel pain then pleasure,
to hope and dream and make them come true,

another one


the pain is gone,I need not fear,I need not hurt,
I need only listen and I am safe,to ask and question is not needed,
I know where I stand, I know where I belong,
I am like that of a harp used of ones own pleasure and that of it's beauty silent till played and has a place in every room