Stolen

Shelves stacked full of love,

jars overflown with happiness.

Stolen,

from the people under the stairs.

For the master's use,

addictive,

like a drug.

Their screams echoing

throughout the chambers.

Loud, like a barn owl’s screech.

 

They hung from the ceiling

as the master stood by,

laughing at their pain,

clapping at their screams;

as if it were a show,

aimed at his pleasure.

 

The master shone with glee,

as their happiness and love

flowed into his jars.

Jar upon jar, ready

to be consumed whenever he wished.

 

Once finished he walked off,

leaving the victims

alone and evil.

They might as well be dead,

for without their happiness,

they were nothing.