Eleanor Rigby

You may have known her as fable or fiction But she was as real as deep blue oceans And glorious dawns of rising golden sun; Not quite blessed with grace of humanity Hurting miserably in wounded dark alleys-- One among many--misdeeds of destiny Trapped within inescapable pathos of society. Like summer storms that churn hazy winds And sound of glum-thunder ignites lightening, Formidable was trauma of her throbbing beats Haunting heart sorrowful, wistful, and lonely Each time she looked up and dared to breathe. Silently she stood there at gate of misery Solitary like a tombstone no one ever visits; A mother, a sister, a daughter, a homemaker In plain sight on some corners of the world Where echoes of quietude often got ignored. Hurting miserably in wounded dark alleys, Solitary like a tombstone no one ever visits, Silently she stood there at gate of misery; Face of the faceless --she was Eleanor Rigby. August 13, 2019 Eleanor Rigby Who Was She Poetry Contest Sponsor: Jerry T Curtis