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Black Sheep Farm


A Poem by Lucinda Bogart

The stifling mold

Of your stealthy blanket of shame
Left me wanting
Waiting for love
 Wanting to be counted
 
The blackest sheep die on your farm
But who’s counting anyway
 
Mother dear Mother
You drew the faulty blade
Abated my innocence
Which once undone
Was never meant to be
 
The blackest sheep die on your farm
But who’s counting anyway
 
Contract
Corrupted
Natural
Order
Usurped
 
She who bore me cast me away
Left me to dust
Left me to him
Though I cried out
Left me anyway

© 2008 Lucinda Bogart
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Sorry took me a while to get to this. Lost my modem Thurs night and was not able to really do anything online until now. I liked the feeling of desiring to understand something you know you will never be able to no matter how hard you try. Battling both the inner demon as well as dealing with the fact of the reality of being placed in a place of almost wanting to blame yourself in some twisted way even though you know you are not to blame in the least. Very interesting thoughts this places in my mind and such a pleasure to allow to consume them.


Great Job!!!!!!

Posted 2 Years Ago

1 of 1 people found this review constructive.


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