A Stolen Life

Let me be a shadow-

Luring in love and lavishly pure

Build me and fold

Cut and combine me

Tedious and taxing

Until I, on this dim gravel spot

Shall be your image-

A shadow of Your light

The Man Part Six: Bosom

Can I rest here,

I plead,

in the bosom

of this-

perhaps I can

nuzzle further-

if you allow.

The fingertips along 

my back, tightly wound

and white- knuckled

are sweaty and slowly slipping

Do not let me go! I shout

into your bosom's base

I sob but do not feel 

the tears-  attached they stay

to your skin,

where shall they go-

if the hands should let

me go

my mind feels this is right

that time is long 

overdue

but my heart it

 shutters and heaves

and collides with the past, 

I know this bosom

I rest has made me

well and strong- this little girl, 

never planned to be, 

has become much,

you see, 

arrived with a beating drum

that never ceased to play

booming

ba-rum-ba-rum

the melody that grew her,

shaped her like clay

and moved her feet, 

like sea grass along the Atlantic shore,

to dance

a marvelous and lasting dance

she shall never droop, it seems

or be withered through and through

a rose among the forest shadows

above them, she sways

flitted and flittered

her self reaches

far beyond these

soft bosom walls

He who planned has not 

mistaken

time alarms, hands release

beyond the bosom,

He calls

I, The Man, must

go