For A Lost Soldier

There is a time during a war,

When reflections of people,

Permeate through the hollow,

Images of the stark reality.

I have been taken prisoner,

By a soldier not twenty years,

He controlled my every action,

He makes me miserable; I obey.

He is not like other soldiers,

They prod, and beat, and kill,

He ignores and desists and yet,

I open up and reveal my secrets.

I believe that he hates me,

His evil does not stir but stews,

I know not what he is thinking,

However his plots are cerebral.

A communication line is futile,

We are not connecting;

I plot my escape but I'm immobile,

I cannot leave; I need his company.

I go on the offensive. I try,

He talks. But reluctantly stops,

He gains total control, seduces me,

And I am back under my place.

I follow him and submit myself,

He provides me with no securities,

Except, of course, the interrogations,

I think that I enjoy them; they're endemic.

I am growing old now, he grows older,

I drop my tools and laughs at me,

Will he ever kill me, I ask,

Dare I to ever push him on that one.

Instead I offer my appologies

I pick up my tools but watch

as he adjusts his deadly weapons

He drops his weapon. I only wish.