by Daniel Keppol
I sit. Alone. The musky smell of old leather around me as I lie motionless. Trapped. My tomb, the perfect sunblock to conceal my glistening body. Smooth. Cold. Finely honed for the life I lead.
I wait. Longing for your hand. The touch of freedom. The embrace that releases me from my prison. The motion that tells me I’m alive. I’m wanted.
I listen. Patiently. Listening for the sound. Not of verbal communication. But, of melded awareness. The complete understanding of one. The thoughts and motions of your body. Silently, you tell me of the task.
I pray. Elated. “What you need is a nice display.” The presence I’ve felt a hundred times. The climax to steadfast obedience. The knowing my duty is called upon again.
I plead. Let me be free. Let me prove you proud. Let me climb the tree of my emptiness to view the world around us. Let me feel the sun on my steel. The glimmer of fear in our enemy. Let me be your messenger. Delivering the fate to our opposition. I am your protector.
© 2010 Daniel Keppol