I've thrown in a few poems lately to keep the sheets warm, as it were, but this is not intended as a replacement for my usual writing here, nor should it become so. Typically, I aim to publish bi-weekly posts, somewhere around Sundays and Wednesdays, and this remains my goal.
Still, by way of apology, I give you this for the time being:
Her future had been chiseled out in stone
With every instance as it ought to be,
As was the manner of the ancient code,
The breeding template of her family.
She bowed to this much like a wilting rose,
A brilliant blossom bled of vibrancy,
And nothing in her manner or her tone
Gave any quotient of her misery.
And through it all she had a stranglehold,
As did so many in her ancestry,
On one great promise someone had foretold
In otherwise neglected prophecy:
One day, somehow, a bride would break the mold,
Would get to live her life fulfilled and free,
And like the others born into her fold
She watched and waited, hoping it was she.