Moment on a Chain

by Steven Craig

Sit there a moment.

Slowly breath in and out deeply.

Close your eyes.

Raise your hand in front of your face as if you were about to slap it.

But keep your eyes closed.

Use your minds eye, to see your hand.

The palm with the long lines

The fingers slightly touching together

Your wrist holding your hand before you

Ready to slap yourself


Keeping your eyes closed, visualize the thick black leather cuff being locked on your wrist.

Its chrome ring riveted to the leather.

You can hear now the chain being locked to the chrome ring

Pulled higher up, and tightened,
securing your wrist, your arm, your hand, your fingers, those lines on your palm.


Slap your face with all your might, all your energy, all your venom, all your anger, all your resentment, all your frustrations, all your humiliations.

The chain prevents your moving, prevents your inflicting the punishing stroke, the bruised eyes, the bloody nose.

The chain holds after repeated ever more energetic attempts, you strain, you grunt, you scream and yell to make your hand slap your face as hard as possible.

Yet, the chain, unforgiving of your desire, holds and restrains you in place.

So completely owned by that simple chain,
you relent and dangle curious why that chain meant to hold you so firmly. Something so simple, so common, a mere chain,
Took you into its control, and you had to obey its unspoken commands, listen to its unspoken limits, its simple demand.

Now, open your eyes.


See that the chain is gone, the cuff has vanished, your open hand is there ready to hit your face.

You can look at that hand now, differently, for it is owned, not by you, but by that hidden chain.

You touch your cheek lightly, and look to make sure no one else is looking as you do.

You take your hand and hold it behind you, Out of your sight.

You can breath again

You look down at the floor, and up at the ceiling

Was it there? Was it really there? Was this chain holding you there?

Or was it a thought, a dream, a little mind travel to a distant place in a moment when you needed to make that escape.

Was your hand really there?

Was your face there to slap?

Were you even aware that any of this even happened at all?

How many times will you open your eyes before you see what you have always felt.

That the depth of submission is far deeper than just obeying.

You move along with your thoughts into the rest of the day.


Posted on 11/23/2014
Copyright © 2020 Steven Craig

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Rob Littler on 11/26/14 at 08:53 AM

I wonder how many actually stopped and closed their eyes and breathed before reading on...and then...Dude, whoah!

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