A DUSK IN DAWN
The strand of pride is broken
And the cord of my concord
For future bliss and pleasure
Is pierced to pebbles of pangs.
My tales has begotten another
Tales, hire me your ear I prethee.
My voice voices no victory nor
My heart blessing the rod that
Unknotted the strand that set
My pride ajar. Now I pride in
Pain stronger than pain and
In memories hurting my joy.
I am lost in the community of
Virtuous maidens. Not that I be
No virtuous but the trademark
Has left my reason a woman.
I am cornered in one corner to
Be dancing one corner abreast.
The worst of my story is not
The Done deed but the decree
On my freedom of speech. Let
My hidden tears provoke your
Heart to connect to my heart
To behold the glowing affliction.
Not just my joy was taken but my
Voice to cry out. Lord, my heart
Cries! Read my face and espy
The metaphor of my melancholy.
My heart is ripped off the beauty
Of life, I am just a living corpse.
I now serve the men of Sodom
For magic rod has turned rods
Where they take turns in toiling
My fallow ground. I am turned
A strumpet where they come to
Blow their trumpet loud and hard.
Am I not too small for this trade?
No true-blue maiden is deem fit.
I have been bathed in the pool of
Gomorah and scenting their scent
With no hope of new dawn taking
Me to the dream of my morrow.
I stand at the bay watching-
Learning the language of my ink-
Learning how to handle my pen.
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