Wrapping, rasping, wretched grip

From whose hold I strive to slip,

Slowly slithering, timely tightens

Its strength prevails, its hold is heightened


With evil glint and mocking grin,

It tortures my soul with its silent din,

Each suffocating sinew, each constricting coil

To resist its power an unending toil.


With little breath, but roaring heart,

Its knot my tide I fight to part.

But Moses did so with God at his side,

Within my heart does he reside?


My aching chest and oozing brow

I shall not cave, I refuse to bow


A voice I hear in dulcet tones

Replenishes my soul and bolsters my bones,

A right-thinking reminder,

A serpent unwinder.


Must I give credence? Or may I be quizzical?

Can I really be restricted, by the purely metaphysical?

Its existence is certain, metaphorically speaking

(It cannot be denied nor in any way debated)

But our relationship is fluid,

And may thus be manipulated.


Clever alteration could cause it frustration,

Resulting in the python’s emasculation.


Counterintuitive perhaps, yet logically sound,

The remedy is clear and should not compound.


The Python is present, beyond contestation,

But the struggle I realise,




I! Have let it constrict

I! Allowed it to hold,

Its power is mine that I’ve foolishly sold.


The snake I cannot banish

This, I must openly accept.

But in doing so, I render the serpent inept.

I reclaim my power that I sold to doubt

And retrieve the control I have struggled without.



From my chest, it shall never slither

But its claim as controller has started to wither.​​ 





Back to top
%d bloggers like this: