Some poems you read, or hear and you know instinctively that the words
mean something a lot more to you as a submissive than maybe any of your
vanilla friends. They may have not been specifically written for
submissives, its just that they can identify with what the words are
saying. i have included two such poems here.
The first Sonnet 57 is
probably the most well known one within the Master/slave and
Dominant/submissive worlds, and is quoted often in books and on websites
the world over. The second The silken Tent however was shared with me
recently by a friend. It was the first time i had heard it, but i liked it
and thought others may too.
If you have any favourites that you would like to see included, mail me
with them and i will inlclude them here too for others to share and enjoy.
Sonnet 57
Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desires?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour,
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour,
When you have bid your servant once adieu;
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of naught
Save, where you are, how happy you make those.
So true a fool to love, that in your will,
Though you do anything, she thinks no ill.
Shakespeare's 57th Sonnet (with one change to the last line.)
The Silken Tent
She is as in a field a silken tent
At midday when a sunny summer breeze
Has dried the dew and all its ropes relent,
So that in guys it gently sways at ease,
And its supporting central cedar pole,
That is its pinnacle to heavenward
And signifies the sureness of the soul,
Seems to owe naught to any single cord,
But strictly held by none, is loosely bound
By countless silken ties of love and thought
To everything on earth the compass round,
And only by one's going slightly taut
In the capriciousness of summer air
Is of the slighest bondage made aware.
By Robert Frost
©tiana 2000-2005
