Sunday, May 15, 2011

ROUTINE, by Teresa Jane Price

One beat, one step, one breath,
The cadence of my day,
With my head hanging,
Hair curtaining,
I weave down the narrow
Amongst a forest of eyes
And the whispers, gossip's noise.
How do they know?
For whom told?
Is it my body of bones
Or my vampire shade
That gives to them the right
To beat up this life?
And the weight, the despise,
Leaves me in darkness, black as ink,
While the mocking, the shoving,
The ridiculing, the pitying,
Weakens my soul,
Entangles my thoughts.
This nightmarish routine churns deep,
Lying where I cannot sleep.
Evenso, such is abound,
Someone will listen,
See my tears and lead me to tell,
There is more to me than this Hell.

~Routine, by Teresa Jane Price
"Image seems to be everything these days. So, I wrote of an image, one I have felt, as well as to many others. Long suppressed, I dug deep to resurrect what I saw and what I came to despise."

1 comment:

  1. Teresa,

    This is a powerful poem. The language reminds me of Shakespeare as does the usage of words in ways not expected.

    I was especially struck by "the whispers, gossip's noise" and "routine churns deep."

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