"Wound" and "Ensnared"

Wound

Ensnared in want and wound in vice,
as spoils you seize, without much toil
defeat of will as compromise
as skin slips sinew without recoil.
 
In search for parting pleads my flesh,
against all sense and sanity,
your ivory grip to spike afresh
and sanctify my vanity.
 
When famine finds a feast beyond
the depth of fear’s furrowed brow,
I cede and bleed into this font
to slake your thirst that only grows.
 
So with a hunger still to sate
and trails of waiting prey at bay
you forsake this lamb to jaws of fate
unveiled to all and led astray.
 
From refuge ripped too raw to resist
all prying eyes probing with pride,
I forego the fight to desist
and succumb to a saviour in hide.
 
The rush of sanguine victory
and wanton wails its will stirs,
in erasure reigns ecstasy; 
Charades now fade to a blur.
 
The morn illumes, unveils, uncloaks
my spiraled spirit, its damned prey.
Now cast among the barren oaks,
none more to shed, none more to slay.
 
From gloom comes yet an old glint -
My knight, now home from his stalk,
unshuns me after his stint -
his sanctuary, now my rock
 
Yet it had to be fed, a desire
too weak to desist, couldn’t be hidden.
“Cast her away”, so you decide
to banish me anew from Eden

 


 

Ensnared

Beware the snare the fowler twirls in thought
with rings in feather and ropes in leather, aimed
to bring you to the doors of a fate unsought
 
A tale entranced, its weaves in silken knot,
a fire it fans that leaves you enflamed -
Beware the snare the fowler twirls in thought!
 
To lands of illusion shall you be brought
where streams of stifling sighs wail untamed
to bring you to the doors of a fate unsought
 
At dusk rises a dream, hiding wiles uncaught
‘til you wake to a world in shades all maimed -
Beware the snare the fowler twirls in thought!
 
In fetters find your feet a lure in rot,
beset in bars of gold that march in frame
to bring you to the doors of a fate unsought
 
Lest you find yourself in a spot so wrought,
heed in haste and your power now reclaim -
Beware the snare the fowler twirls in thought
to bring you to the doors of a fate unsought.

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Even as a wee lass, words fascinated Lilian Fields, who would often "read" the newspaper...upside down. She's since found both a playground and nest in the world of words. When not helping students grapple with grammar, she weaves words into art. Her work explores themes of yearning, passion and sorrow.