The Writers' Circle

Fists are clenched, I grab the whip.
Strike down with power.
Force held by grip.

The blow severe, cry's loud with pain.
Arm held high, above I rear.
Lash down, again and again.

The screams, the cries, agony so pure.
They have no choice, they must endure.
The slavers job.
The slaves place.
I make the rules, control the mob.
And give it all, keeping true face.

With days job done, forced to forget.
The brutish tasks, the blood and sweat.
So home I go.
To wife and kids.
I tell them not, nothing they know.
My job provides, also forbids.

I knew the day, would have to come.
When wife would demand, and I would succumb.
The questions asked.
The lies I've told.
I've lied to them, and all I've masked.
For just a handful, of tainted gold.

Now they have gone, left me to dwell.
Inside of my, invisible cell.

I'm trapped here now, what can I do.
I've lost my job, my wife and kids too.

For what I've done, I must repay.
The lives I hurt, and took away.
For the rest of mine.
An open grave.
To lie here damned, for all of time.
And spend eternal, as a slave.