*A thought of restraining oneself from one’s true nature, brought this poem into existence. The world abides Mr. West Coast Bandit
“Heirloom of Cilice”
Ascending the stairs in a panic,
Cobwebs abetted my jaunt.
My mood bordering manic.
Secrets concealed in this haunt.
Negotiating an ill placed plank,
Vented eave-lights shone the true path.
Family history buried in deep dank,
Somewhere over in back.
Reaching for coveted treasure,
I felt a twinge along my spine.
Immediately regretting the gesture,
Ending up lying supine.
Of all the boxes about me,
Was one that held gravity.
A hatbox ragged and dusty,
A veil for depravity.
Opening the musty parcel,
I pulled out a garment of rough.
Ran it across my bare torso,
And knew it would be enough.
Alighting the stairs of the attic,
My masochism barely contained.
I ogled the blood stained fabric,
Awaiting the chance at some pain.
My wife doesn’t know my secret,
The one I keep hidden away.
The shirt I adorn when she exits,
Provides ecstasy beyond rave.
An tug and a scratch,
Some surface scars.
My sins are no match,
For the barbed wire stars.
Cilice is the name,
my contrition warrior.
I apply it in shame,
I regard it an honor.
Must finish in a hurry,
She’ll be back in short time.
Makes forbidden action sublime.
Now safely stowed above me,
My portable penance hatbox.
God can’t unsee the reality,
Of life’s many hard knocks.