By PAT LAUTEN

The eternal captor rests high upon his domain
Surveying all that he has captured.
Taunting his captors with bygone promises,
He leads me blindly to the land of no return.
Here I wait to do his bidding,
Thinking not of myself,
But of him.

But oh the day when he sets me free!
I shall weep.
Not out of joy­
But of sorrow

I shall cry the bitter tears of a love lost
And pleasures no longer enjoyed.
One by one he sets us free,
Leaving his world alone,
Desolate,
Shrunken.

We are but pieces of clay molded into
The shape he wants us.
Destined to play the game,
Take the risks,
Suffer the pain,
Bask in his glory.

My captor is not a tyrant.
He does not force his will upon us.
He coaxes us,
Dares us to come into his trap,
And we go freely,
Often unsure of the road ahead.

My captor is higher than any law,
Stronger than any human,
Deeper than any river,
My captor is love.