Freedom bears pale skin and a brilliant voice
that sings sorrows to the enslaved and imprisoned.
She only knows love.
But what happens when freedom is enslaved?
She'll fight – teeth gnashed and hands clenched.
Alas, bound at the wrists and broken in her soul,
she only knows grief.
But by the hands of her children, she flees her prison.
Her once pure virgin skin will never lose the taint it gained.
She won't lament her tragedies, though,
for now she knows much more.
"She won't lament her tragedies, though,
ReplyDeletefor now she knows much more."
Love.This.Best.Line.Ever.
1. I love the word lament. It's cool.
2. :) Yeah. It's awesome.
Your poem rocks
ReplyDeleteand here I'll tell you why.
It's got lovely wordage
and a gorgeous story line.
I concur with Jenna
on the line choiceage
and I also liked the repetition-ish
of what "she" knows.
That was pretty cool.
Also, I made a poem
out of my responses
only by pressing enter
at
random
points
:)