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Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Thursday, October 6, 2011

Chains

images courtesy of Ella Wilson

This empty shell she called her home
She roams her hell after the gloam
Imprisoned within as a lover's possesion
"I am not free; my heart is chained
By jealousy, my love constrained."
By his hand she died after making confession.

and In-form Poet: Tri-Coupled Sestet, at Poetic Bloomings

12 comments:

Brian Miller said...

yikes....perhaps she should have kept her mouth shut...

Ella said...

Powerful and so hauntingly sad! Well Done~

madhumakhi said...

Poor woman. Unfortunately there are so many women like her.

BTW You've used an interesting form of poetry.

Old Ollie said...

scary...

excellent use of the form

darev2005 said...

A beautiful and chilling description.

Mama Zen said...

Chilling!

Judy Roney said...

Oh, my! She should have kept her deeds to herself! Shivery!

Dave King said...

A neat solution to the challenge. Like it very much.

gautami tripathy said...

Excellent scary write!

peripherals

Rachel Hoyt said...

That is exactly how I imagine it feels to live in a big house after a loved one passed on there. Eerie!

Isabel Doyle said...

love never dies, it stiffens its grip
great poem

Fireblossom said...

But...I like that house!