The Staff

The Staff
The turning of wood, I held my breath
Pain screeching at every inch
I am slowly fading…
Churning me into a staff
How powerful it must be
Only held by the one with authority
It is plundered from me
Have they considered?
What it is like for me
Once having the freedom and right
To breath the fresh air from the amazon forest
Now, suffocating in that tiny workshop

My name is ‘Staff’
Explication of power, freedom and authority
Why don’t I perceive the way I am meant to be
Ruthless and cruel rulers are ignorant and idiotic
They shape me into what is symbolic for their authority
As if proving their right
The churning of wood I held my breath
As I’m slowly shaped into another one of his ‘symbolic’ right
I am now finished and ready for lacquer
My throat now at its final point, no energy
No need
No right
No obligation
To cry for help
I can only wait
To stand with the mysterious man, that I call Husband.
To be held, powerless, by the person, I stand beside.