God’s Flesh,

A last breath,

An unexpected adoration;

All earned over countless millennia.

And here you are,

Mine to trust and behold.

But you don’t lead.

You won’t even speak,

Your touch is cold and weak.

I can feel December in your veins,

A haze in your hazel eyes.

How did you get here?

I didn’t even know I missed you,

But you knew better.

Thank you for showing me

That I’m a slave to this life.

If I were anything else

I’d be power hungry,



By accepting the chains of my existence

I become the master of my reality.

Published by: cynicalwordsmith

I am, by no means, a professional writer. I have no dreams of becoming such. I just enjoy writing in my very sparse free time, both poetry and short stories. If you enjoy any of my works in particular, feel free to tell me. I always enjoy the feedback.

Categories Poetry1 Comment

One thought on “Master”

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