Marks

He takes the blade in hand
Samson, the mighty man
And slays them all in the field
Food for little foxes in the grain

She takes his hand and holds it
Marks the places where his weapon lay
She sees his hands are changing their form
The more he does it the more he is marked

He sees her whispers in the dark
And knows what she will do to him
He knows he should run away
And yet he still lets her tie him to the chair

He takes the blade in hand
Gouges out his eyes so he cannot see
Delilah making her plans for him at night
And weeping at their undoing in the morrow

She presses her hand on his
Sees the blood pooling from his eyes there
Running in the furrows of his palm
The more he does it the more he is marked

She moves to his place trapped between the pillars
She finds him there in chains of his making
And she wants him to be happy with her
But she knows she can never let him go

She takes the blade in hand
Cuts his hair and shaves his face
And the strength to fight left him then
And he would never escape

He takes her hand and feels the creases
Where she held the blade too tight
Feels his blood and hair caked there
The more she does it the more she is marked

He takes the pillar in hands
Caked with blood and hair
Draws the curtain on their short time together
Now they are all marked and blinded

Now we are all Samson