American women are dying
Leaving children and doctors crying
There's naught they can do
Abortion's taboo
Because prejudiced men keep prying
Night grows silent, nary a sound
The best time to write, I have found,
to compose poetic impressions.
Pages in leather tomes, they're bound.
Lines of repentant expressions,
attesting to indiscretions
and the sorrow they did impart.
Each verse filled with my confessions.
Nib of my pen hurled as a dart
at its target, my wounded heart.
With self-inflicted pain it bleeds
Torn into pieces, ripped apart.
Repentant for the loathsome deeds,
the temptation of fleshly needs.
I beg forgiveness for my sin.
My poetry sorely concedes.
There is no other grief akin
to the ache I feel deep within.
If there's a way to right my wrong,
please tell me. How do I begin?
May 26th, 2022
Rubaiyat Contest
Sponsor: Sotto Poet
The pantoum’s a loathsome critter
Pantoums missed out on getting class
they’re so twisted up and bitter
each one knows its first will be its last
Pantoums missed out on getting class
you can tell Pantoums lack feeling.
Each one knows its first will be its last
they’re so very unappealing
You can tell Pantoums lack feeling
and they don’t have too much glitter.
They’re so very unappealing
the pantoum’s a loathsome critter
Pantoums aren’t wisdom, love or joy
And they don’t have too much glitter
They’re some misanthropic sod's foul ploy
The pantoum’s a loathsome critter
Her essence manifests on abysmal nights.
Aimlessly roaming in endless twilights.
Ceaselessly craving the warmth of sunlight.
Trapped in a shadow realm.
Forsaken passage to heaven.
An abomination so evil she's banished from hell.
A professed Christian woman, such a brutal disgrace.
Extraordinarily wicked.
A false mask of godliness concealed her true face.
An edacious hypocrite to her very core.
Treacherous, unscrupulous.
Constantly taking more.
Sacrificed her soul for adulteress lust.
While preaching of forgiveness and unconditional love.
Judge not she had said as she fantisized that you where dead.
To her husband she swore a biblical oath.
Falsifying the truth to those she did host.
Accused of betrayal for not bowing down.
Broken and tarnished her, self righteous crown.
A scapegrace of shame.
She aches all alone.
No mercy, no peace, no place to call home.
From time to time, you'll catch sight of her sillohette
on a moonlit night.
A glimpse of what she became.
A longing to end her relentless pain.
What I ask, did she gain?
How many times must we got through this
Upon how many fictions will you insist
Again and again you recite veteran lies
Though I question each, I believe you each time
Each time you sound earnest, so sure of what's true
So I believe you once more, and am oft left to stew.
How are you so good at telling these lies
Why do I bother every time to chastise
Why do I simmer and seethe and despise
When I can be done with you, and your loathsome lies
Though once I sought for him as one seeks light,
Now Truth, as my own shadow, never strays.
He witnesses each anxious, sleepless night
And follows me through my unhappy days.
It has been years since I have been alone.
I feel him in the corner of my mind;
Horribly near, he stands as still as stone.
"Aren't I," he sneers, "what you wanted to find?"
He sickens me; I cannot meet his stare.
I long to overcome him, but such strength
And constancy are more than I can bare;
He knows that he will overcome at length.
I shut my eyes to his unholy dawn.
Truth folds his arms and yawns a patient yawn.
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