For The Woman Who Bears His NameA Poem by Fiona CThe old man walks down the street Cobbled and uneven Bent over against the cold Of this the winter season With the aid of a stick he navigates The badly rutted lane Deeply etched grooves line his face From surviving in constant pain In his head his thoughts are in A constant random wander Precious moments of his life Lost in contemplative squander 'Tis his daily chore bestowed On him to buy the bread To fail in this a simple task Would bring war down on his head Reaching the store he enters Hiding from pitiful stares Head downcast he makes his way To the shelf of required wares His basket full he makes his way To the counter to pay his bill Purchases paid, he turns to leave Praying his shopping not to spill As he leaves the store he hears The whispers behind his back "Why does he keep on doing it?" His drooping shoulders slack Once outside he hurries Scurries back from whence he came As fast as his arthritic legs will take him An added burden is his shame Back to his eternal prison The place he once called home Never left to his own devices Perchance he should choose to roam His wife is standing waiting For him at the front door Her face twisted in roiling anger Her venom over him to pour A nasty piece of work is she No patience for his age acquired senility Treating him like a mongrel dog With waves of open hostility So sad to see this once young man Who has seen life and so much more Reduced to being a bidden slave And forced to daily chore How life can be so cruel and fate Play the meanest of all tricks Just by choosing a wrong life mate Be caught in constant conflicts Yet day after day he continues To walk the road of shame For go he must and listen he does For the woman who bears his name © 2014 Fiona C |
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Added on February 25, 2014 Last Updated on February 25, 2014 AuthorFiona CDurban, KwaZulu Natal, South AfricaAboutI started writing in August having never been interested in or even looked at poetry before! My writings come from my emotions (mostly) and I find it cathartic to put words to paper. Thank you for.. more..Writing
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