Enslaved

Enslaved

Weeping in the dead of night
She rocks upon her bed
Mustering up the will to fight
The dankness in her head
But there is no consistency
No maids all in a row
The garden’s overrun with weeds
Too many rows to hoe
With dirt beneath her fingernails
And blisters on her palms
She recites the scrawling
Of the proverbs and the psalms
All along the filthy walls
Where vintage paper’s torn
By years of the indifference
The setting in of scorn
The scarlet stripes along her back
Remind her of the blood
Filling in each jagged crack
Received while on the run
Searching for a place to hide
Asylum for the weary
Who rock inside the dead of night
While hiding from the fury
Of forces closing in to take
Each chance of her release
Wiping every thought away
To bring a moment’s peace
Yet when the silence captures her
She rests within the words
Whispered near the aged walls
I know you and you’re heard

©Kay Salady

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About Kay Salady

I write about the greatest force on earth that, I believe, lives on forever and surpasses all else. "All your poems read like I am watching an artist use words instead of colours full of feeling." ~Anon.

Posted on June 8, 2015, in poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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