NOTE: This is a previously published work (Mom Writer's Literary Magazine - Online Issue, Spring 2007). It was written a number of years ago, at perhaps the lowest point in my life. I would like to share it, though (as it was my first publication, I'm quite proud of it). It was written in a style which is completely varied from the tone I now use in my poetry, so please forgive the few revisions I have made. To view the poem as it was originally published, please visit...
http://www.momwriterslitmag.com/Archives/MagazineIssues/Spring2007/Poem8.htm
Thank you!
is this the price of passion,
a life filled with remorse, needless struggle and all-consuming pain
a life filled with self-pity, self-loathing and never-ending strife?
I grieve for what never was and what shall never be.
what has my life become?
a river of tears that scathe my face with their heat,
their constancy,
I am alone in my fears, alone in my pain,
alone in my strife
he caused it, little one.
caused the stress, the tears which sap my strength
robbing me of any chance that I had of being a real mother.
where does that leave me?
I have become my mother's daughter,
and no amount of tears, of shame
can cause the man that is your father, little one,
to offer me respite.
forgive me it is all I can do to keep us alive,
I could never harm you, little one,
yet I fear that I already have.
I lack independence, lack stability,
I can offer you nothing.
what did I do to deserve this?
o, but I know what I did,
though I never thought I would pay for it
with the rest of my life.
I have suffered so long now
and there is no end to my pain in sight.
I wish the morrow would bring better tidings,
a better life.
I fear the suffering that awaits such an innocent creature,
such an innocent child
if nothing is done to improve our quality of life.
my soul screams with the injustice of it all,
and I find, once more, that I wish for death.
but I have already done so much in this life,
I fear for my immortal soul.
is this the price of passion?
destitution and a life lacking pride,
lacking the courage to raise my tear stained face to the sky,
hear me, o lord!
bring me respite, an end to this ache which causes my soul unrest
I have not the strength for such struggles,
I have not the strength to watch my life crumble,
crumble beneath the weight of the world,
I have nothing left in me and there is no heart left
in this place in which I was born,
what's more I cannot watch the man that I love
turn from me yet another time.
laughable that I consider him before myself,
a man who is selfish and unworthy,
for what kind of man tells such a frail creature as I,
"be strong."
the very struggles I endure, he himself cannot,
he cannot bear the kind of life that I live,
would rather die than see himself shamed.
a little sacrifice on his part would go a long way.
but, either he cannot or will not,
I fear it is simply that he will not.
see what my life has become,
I despise the world for its lack of caring,
I despise myself for living so long.
how is it that my body does not buckle under such weight,
how is it that, despite the death of my soul, my body still lives?
o, but I know.
it is the price I must pay for passion.
http://www.momwriterslitmag.com/Archives/MagazineIssues/Spring2007/Poem8.htm
Thank you!
is this the price of passion,
a life filled with remorse, needless struggle and all-consuming pain
a life filled with self-pity, self-loathing and never-ending strife?
I grieve for what never was and what shall never be.
what has my life become?
a river of tears that scathe my face with their heat,
their constancy,
I am alone in my fears, alone in my pain,
alone in my strife
he caused it, little one.
caused the stress, the tears which sap my strength
robbing me of any chance that I had of being a real mother.
where does that leave me?
I have become my mother's daughter,
and no amount of tears, of shame
can cause the man that is your father, little one,
to offer me respite.
forgive me it is all I can do to keep us alive,
I could never harm you, little one,
yet I fear that I already have.
I lack independence, lack stability,
I can offer you nothing.
what did I do to deserve this?
o, but I know what I did,
though I never thought I would pay for it
with the rest of my life.
I have suffered so long now
and there is no end to my pain in sight.
I wish the morrow would bring better tidings,
a better life.
I fear the suffering that awaits such an innocent creature,
such an innocent child
if nothing is done to improve our quality of life.
my soul screams with the injustice of it all,
and I find, once more, that I wish for death.
but I have already done so much in this life,
I fear for my immortal soul.
is this the price of passion?
destitution and a life lacking pride,
lacking the courage to raise my tear stained face to the sky,
hear me, o lord!
bring me respite, an end to this ache which causes my soul unrest
I have not the strength for such struggles,
I have not the strength to watch my life crumble,
crumble beneath the weight of the world,
I have nothing left in me and there is no heart left
in this place in which I was born,
what's more I cannot watch the man that I love
turn from me yet another time.
laughable that I consider him before myself,
a man who is selfish and unworthy,
for what kind of man tells such a frail creature as I,
"be strong."
the very struggles I endure, he himself cannot,
he cannot bear the kind of life that I live,
would rather die than see himself shamed.
a little sacrifice on his part would go a long way.
but, either he cannot or will not,
I fear it is simply that he will not.
see what my life has become,
I despise the world for its lack of caring,
I despise myself for living so long.
how is it that my body does not buckle under such weight,
how is it that, despite the death of my soul, my body still lives?
o, but I know.
it is the price I must pay for passion.
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