Here's a recently rediscovered poem that I wrote when I was about twenty. I suspect that the "beatings" suggested in the text were emotional rather than physical: otherwise it seems surprisingly modern. It didn't have a title, so I am calling it "The Palace."
In a dark, deserted palace
Where the sun must never go
Lives a bitter, beaten maiden
Whose Fortune I know.
Many men, they have abused her
With their practices unclean
Now she lives in utter darkness
So her sores cannot be seen.
Something must be found to heal her,
Something found to help forget,
Death is lurking ‘round the corner,
Time for her to hedge her bet.
Listen to me, gentle maiden
Whose Fortune I see,
You will never have a future,
Unless you have it with me.
Come with me, oh gentle maiden,
I am blind to your scars.
I, too, have known the palace
With its shadowy bars.
I will be reading The Palace, along with other poems, at 5 PM tonight (Wednesday, May 30th 2018) at Atlas Coffee 300 Main st. Santa Rossa
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there must be remote matter." - Ben Jonson
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