Veiled Serpents in the Garden
In twilight bowers where honeyed whispers fade,
wayward women weave their nagging nets of thorn,
demanding scepters none but tyrants crave,
and crown themselves where gentle virtues mourn.
They bloom as living scars upon their parents’ name,
a fractured glass that proves the root ran weak;
the watching world beholds their tainted flame,
and murmurs low: “Behold, the line that could not speak.”
Divorce, their silken banner dipped in gall,
unlocks the gate to rivers red with sin;
they cast the sacred vow like withered shawl,
and plunge into the storm of flesh untamed within.
They bend no knee, yet feast upon the man they scorn,
draining his veins through courts of gilded chain;
child support becomes their secret horn,
poured lavishly on self while hunger gnaws in vain.
They clutch the child they swore the stars had sent,
yet bar the father from his blood’s embrace;
they globe-trot swift on wings of discontent,
seeking new hearts to trap in their restless chase.
Good women guard the hearth with quiet grace,
knowing the home a temple, pure and whole.
But wayward women reckon marriage’s lace
a merchant’s scale, a ledger for the soul.
Thus spins the wheel beneath a hollow throne,
where nag and greed devour what love has sown.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
