Humane
You may call slaves by many names
But calling them inhuman or inferior seems a bit off
Everyone has its own path
There are those that lead and others that are led
Living for another’s satisfaction is a beautiful thing
To be explored, used, abused
To accept losing everything for the benefit of others
To feel content on a naked body dressed in shackles
Holding on to nothing but the desire to serve
To be at that place to fulfill the needs of his Master
Whatever those may be
For as long as He desires
Being humane is to care
And a slave cares for no worldly goods, other than his Master
Not even for himself
Sacrificing everything for that choice of servitude
So how can you call him inhuman
When he shows the best that he will ever be
And even if he stands beneath Your feet
That place is occupied because he chose to
Inferior towards You
But not against all the rest
And as for the Master
The one that cares for nothing other than himself
That beats and tortures for his own pleasure
Is the human or inhuman
Perhaps inhuman
Something closer to a beast
If He only looks with his eyes closed
Ignoring that who stands beneath him
But if you do open them
You will see the heavy load weighting on him, waiting to be taken out
How much his thorns hurt, waiting to be plucked
How much poison runs through his veins, waiting to be bled
How cold he feels, without a set of chains to warm him
How thirsty he is, without something to drink
How can one look and not act
When no one else has the strength to do it
When no one else has the will to do it
When there is no one else for him
And no one else that he wants to ease his torment but You
How can you call yourself humane
When he is there
For You
And You leave him to suffer all alone
How can you call yourself inhumane
When you are willing to spend your time
Making him feel human
Giving him something to fight for
Something to cherish
Something to keep
