The Room of Subservience

Every wall, every facet Every sign of neglect Stands magnified, picturesque Vines grow thick Twiglike at every bisect Roots reach for the ceiling With brave beauty, grotesque A sea of leaves crowd the floor Weathered and worn Spattered patterns of gore The roots climb up Palms stretched out, Beckoning, silent With a deafening shout Enters, a woman, with beauty With grace, sits upon her throne Somehow afraid The vines Entwine The wrists, the face How long, they’ve been waiting To give her a taste