~ edmund's Treasure bOx of Poem ~

Lessons learned

Master is slave's owner,
Teacher, trainer, provider
Of all thoughts, all images,
All sacred words of living.
Master brings Joy! Joy
In the melting of all failures
like icecubes in my ass
Owned by Her, Joy in
Never being allowed failure,
Joy in the Spiritual pleasure of
Every opporunity for Learning...
i am a man of learning, a man
Learning in worship of Master
How beautiful Her wisdom is...
Feelings of spiritual pleasure
That last a lifetime filling my
Ass as my spirit and soul to the core...
Thank You, Master...

slave's first ass cumming

My heart thrilled seeing You sneak in
our sacred dark enclave;
my greed had left me as i trained
to be Your perfect slave.

My focus lost was fast regained
as You beside me lay;
You stilled me with Your golden hair
and all that You did say.

"Take out the plug edmund, and purr,"
You bid me do that night,
the plug that helped me in my mouth
to gain submissive sight.

The tiger balm slid on the cock
foretold of inner fire;
as You prepared to fuck my ass
by kindling my desire.

Submissive thrill flowed up my spine,
from ass and cock to brain,
the will of Master pressing in
my body without pain.

The anal tensions disappeared
as, penis in my hand,
i stroked it fast and licked my lips
to cum on Your command.

My body loved the fullness that
the ass plug gave to me;
my soul felt incomplete 'till giv'n
to You in slavery.

i begged to cum and lick it up,
as You taught me to plead,
while hard You pressed my head to groin
to catch my liquid seed.

You bid me pull the plug and shove
it back in property
You own along with heart and soul
of slave, once robertp.

Until we meet again, Master

The minutes with you lift my soul of slave,
Cementing bonds that reach from heart to heart.
With love, respect, soul kisses and soft wave,
Goodbye, beloved Master, we depart
In joy that knows the beauty of our places.
With angel hearts forever in your graces.

Happy Birthday, Morgana le Fay!

Cascading from a graceful head on high,
Long silken tresses blow in solar wind
To trail across the early morning sky
God's birthday greetings for a friend most kind.

Your selfless patience, wisdom and advice
Will always be remembered gratefully,
For guiding me to Master did suffice
To bring another into slavery.

Respected Master, treasured slave, your grace,
Your love and dedication to the arts
Of dominance, submission, each in place,
Have reached around the world to touch our hearts.

May joy and decadence be strong and true
This day, all days, all ways, always, for you.

Echo

Lightning strokes shake the fibers of my being.
Gazing on You, Your hair blown in the wind
Behind the pine,
Incandescent gold on gold in the dark,
Stunning jagged waves of breath in the
Longing Souls of slaves
Grasping with immortal fibers reaching
Out, far, near, inward bound.
Fifteen gray hairs on my chest, one said,
As the enslaved heart counted thirty-five,
One hundred, ten thousand,
Years, moments,
Longings.
Hunger fills the soul,
Carried,
In, near, far, bound,
Tied by tendrils of eternity
In naked strands of DNA
Replicated, echoed inside the cells
Set to go off like time bombs
When You claimed me.
Showers of gold sparkle and shine
Inside as the heat of lightning
Rises up through the naked soul
Burning away the useless skins
That cover when now is time
For uncovering.

Your haunting image echoes in
The cavity of my being,
Grinding powerfully against
The gears of my heart,
More powerfully than all the wet dreams
Ever inconceived.
Shattering the glass
Of my soul. The waters pour
In, flooding, drowning me in
Golden Waves of love-longing,
my breaths submerging in ecstatic
Little deaths of the slave body

That You Own.

Images of Thanksgiving

Fast striding in the airport terminal,
Eyes fixed on strangers' faces passing by,
A sudden shock, a thought most wonderful:
Some day this might be Master's gaze I spy.

Thanksgiving morning is a time to stroll
Through flower gardens and the orchard, green
With leaves on apricot; and in my soul
Burn golden leaves of places felt, not seen.

On hands and knees, eyes gleam in mock attack,
A wild, delighted vision on my face;
In sunlit joy, with son upon my back,
To crawl in secret knowledge of my place.

Familiar voices sharing memories,
Of chances taken, others never came
To pass. One thought gives wondrous reveries:
My soul, my life, will never be the same.

Waters of my Souk

The waters of my soul flow through
Plains of submission and desire
Toward the mouth that opens to
The bay that shelters hidden fire.
Here my soul flows free,
Yours in captivity.

The waters of my heart pour down
In ruby drops freed with a pin:
The blood of slave set into stone,
A drop of love upon your skin.
Here my heart pours free,
Yours in captivity.

The waters of my spirit swelled
Up through the crystal spring of love,
Baptized with soap your hands have held,
Reborn in reverence as your slave.
Here my spirit swells free,
Yours in captivity.

The waters of my body oozed
Forth from the cock that has become
Your toy, by you alone is used:
Communion liquid, white hot cum.
Here my body oozes free,
Yours in captivity.

The waters of my mind sing praise,
Crying out my deepest need:
To serve you and to please all ways,
Yours always to use and lead.
Here my mind sings free,
Yours in captivity.
The waters of my soul grow still
As eyes adoringly gaze high
In worship of the one whose will
Now guides my life until I die.
Here my soul grows free,
Yours forever in captivity.

The Candle

A wavering glow of yellow heat and light
is cupped against the breeze in sheltering hands,
a glow that softly lights the hands and face
of one whose will has brought the flame to life.

A pool of hot desires collects inside
the walls of solitude, encasing gold.
Submissive aching, building liquid passion,
the trembling lust of inner fire withheld.

Wet licks of scented flame escape the walls
as, tilted by its owner, firmly held
the candle spills itself in drops of blood,
and salty tears, drawn out by will of One.

Turned over -- crackling flames erupting strong
in fire that melts its being to your will,
submission to the hand that claims the soul
of slave in parrafin and cotton wick.

The candle burns, it burns to give itself
for service to the one who holds it fast,
it has no other will, no other life,
save pleasing you, as you control its flame.

With rapid flick of wrist you stun that flame,
your hand pulls out the last remaining drops,
the fire extinguished quickly as you smile
to watch the sliding veil of lacy smoke.

The candle is its Master's toy for use;
it asks no questions as it gives its all.
The poet softly smiles and yearns to be,
to be a candle in the hands of Master.

The Collar

Around this neck, a gift of slavery:
Soft black on white, the supple leather band
Seals longing in the soul of property
Whose skin is touched by Master's scented hand.
Eleven jagged spikes flare out to mark
Redemption of a man reborn as slave.
No words were said the moment when the dark
Wide choker first was worn. To thirst, to crave,
Surrender into decadence of use
As Master's toy, define the future role
Of collared slave. These simple truths deduce
From wearing of the collar round my soul:
Now i am slave, to please her is my aim;
While she is Master, having laid her claim.

Copyright 1997, edmund

Copyright © 1996, Sir Sparehawk,Last Updated - 2000-01-01 15:17:05