Thursday, August 23, 2007

Two Shades of Discipline

Result of an assignment from last weeks creative writing class. The subject discipline.

Stone Disciplined

Chiseling hard,
immovable stone;
will the mallet,
the implement to impel.

A painter whose brush
paints with space
seizing all as a ruse,
bar the masterpiece recluse.

In the beginning,
in all directions,
stone racing
neither space to move
nor room to sculpt.

A tiny nick here
a chip there
and soon a cleft
a cloven gap
begins to appear.

A small space yields,
as the hammer swings,
striking chisel cold,
crafting the mark.

A clumsy scratch,
first of many
each following some
cryptic metamorphosing plan.

Patterns, like thoughts
fleeing from moments
like sparks from a sparkler;
yet hidden within, a steel core
conducting them all.

The chips become larger
strikes more precise
exposing more of what
begs to be born.

This dark slab of stone,
just this side of done,
when seemly honed
a mountain unveiled.

So summon up the will
and chisel away more
as time runs down hill
into sand beneath your feet.

The piece nearly done
just a few more strikes,
then down comes the curtain
and still darkness of night.

Disciplined and Owned

Chiseled, molded,
as I see fit;
never doubting
who you are;
you are mine,
my re-creation
from who you once
thought your were.

Not a thought,
ever, of
I am too fat,
too thin,
my breasts too
or too large.

You are my crowning,
most precious
work of art,
creation and

In my eyes,
you are flawless.
I created,
and shaped you,
to my deepest desires.

Any remaining
thought of lack,
or imperfection;
tossed into the wind
as you gave yourself
so totally
and completely
to me.

Your pleasure entirely mine.
Your orgasms, my dominion,
set free with complete abandon;
relinquishing all thought
of inadequacy.

Pain, my loving discipline,
your exquisite pleasure;
each caressing stroke of my lash,
perfecting the spirit
trapped deep within,
screaming for release.

Obedient, compliant,
no more questioning
of how
or why,
only an insatiable desire
to serve your master.

Old conflicts,
which once ruled
your being, now
gone from
your mind
and soul.

Each breath,
an affirmation
of your craving
to serve,
where destined
at my feet.

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