The Traveller and other poems

Escape

I feel the warmth upon my face
and new-found strength I will deploy,
no longer bowed beneath disgrace

That seared my soul with its embrace.
Gone now the shroud bound to destroy;
I feel the warmth upon my face.

You seek new prey you can erase,
for now you see your whipping boy
no longer bowed beneath disgrace,

you need fresh game to fuel the chase.
And now I'm not your captive toy,
I feel the warmth. Upon my face

the life-long fear and pain unlace;
I wrap myself in nascent joy,
no longer bowed beneath disgrace.

For you cannot disturb my place,
and this, I know, will most annoy—
I feel the warmth upon my face.
No longer bowed. Beneath disgrace.