Where does the doyen of care go when she´s
inside her head?
Deep within the cockles of her soul when
she goes to her bed,
She´s curled up tight within herself, inside
deep & slowly dying,
She´s no longer caring, not seeing &
has even given up trying.
Once a young virgin maid, into loveless
marriage forced & wed,
So very innocent, afraid & sentenced to
the cruel married bed,
It was arranged & spliced by patriarchs,
to one who didn’t care,
And to his leering gaze, she lifts not
eyes, does not even dare.
Bearer of the sons, keeper of the hearth, the
bed & tidy home,
No possessions, no pay, absolutely nothing to
call her very own,
No loving word, whipped into submission, never
to answer back,
Trapped in a home, not hers, within walls wrapped
in very black.
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