For I am a kidnapper,
You are no willing victim.

I know the feeling
Of my enemies’ traps.

Their old snares
Lie upon this path:
A means to my ruination
and your escape––
Carved deep, into cold
Stone tunnel wall.

It does not help
The way is dark
And hard to follow––
I must drag you behind
While feeling ahead.

I know the sensation
Of wind in free-fall,
As you trip me.

But you will not
Run away.

You are still too vengeful
For the anguish on your
Friends’ faces I extracted
Not long ago.

So you charge
The matador,
And she proves
So much crueler––
Killing no one.

My traps are
More effective,
Catching again
What once was lost.

I know the beauty
Of the end,
For I have been there,
And seen something
That came of it.

It is a strange
And alien place.

I was once
A dandelion,
Poking through
A crack in the
Cruel sidewalk.

I survived
The masochistic
Weed-killer.

Now, I am
Like a kind
Of great
And thorny tree.

Sometimes,
I will scratch you,
Just to know,
There is still
Sensation.

When we come
To the end
Of our path,
We will return again.

For you and I
Are kidnappers,
And there are no
Willing victims.