UNCTURT

sigh.....

time to pick myself up... moving forward... I hope

never felt so lost before....

kitten...

I don't know what is right or wrong any more....

A Moment of silence.....

sadness....

things have changed, and I am broken....

I order you to stand with a gentle tug of your collar
Wrapping my arms around your beautiful, tremulous body,
Feeling you sink into me
With a small sob of joy

And I feel the acidic rush of power devouring the remnants of my morality,
Effervescent laughter bubbling up in my throat,
I try to push it down like so many times before,

I grace your cheek with a touch of a hand,
Your eyes fluttering closed in bliss…

Now is the time to show you
just what you do to me.
You have made me what I am
And I love you for it.
You’ve unleashed the demon
And you have set him fee. 
One day we will be together
Forever, you and me.

"The difference between a good man, and a monster isn’t the power they have. It's how they choose to use it." 

Our lives are a direct result of the choices we make. If you find yourself unhappy in your circumstances then it may be time to consider different choices. 

It was battered and scarred,
And the auctioneer thought it
hardly worth his while
To waste his time on the old violin,
but he held it up with a smile.

"What am I bid, good people", he cried,
"Who starts the bidding for me?"
"One dollar, one dollar, Do I hear two?"
"Two dollars, who makes it three?"
"Three dollars once, three dollars twice, going for three,"

But, No,
From the room far back a gray bearded man
Came forward and picked up the bow,
Then wiping the dust from the old violin
And tightening up the strings,
He played a melody, pure and sweet
As sweet as the angel sings.

The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said "What now am I bid for this old violin?"
As he held it aloft with its' bow.

"One thousand, one thousand, Do I hear two?"
"Two thousand, Who makes it three?"
"Three thousand once, three thousand twice,
Going and gone", said he.

The audience cheered,
But some of them cried,
"We just don't understand."
"What changed its' worth?"
Swift came the reply.
"The Touch of the Masters Hand."

And many a man with life out of tune
All battered with bourbon and gin
Is auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd
Much like that old violin

A mess of pottage, a glass of wine,
A game and he travels on.
He is going once, he is going twice,
He is going and almost gone.

But the Master comes,
And the foolish crowd never can quite understand,
The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought
By the Touch of the Masters' Hand.