The Kept Woman and The Harlot

The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree.

We grew up under the same roof. When it burned down, I reached for the stars. She chose to stay among the ruins.

My father lay in his unmarked grave

as mother turned in her sinful bed

yearning for something she never gave

neither from her heart nor in her head.

The vines grew dead a long time ago,

wrapped around memories of the past;

and the buds of life no longer grow

from the flower that has breathed its last.

She feasted on sin and bore a child

with the man who called my father friend,

and she made her bed while running wild

with the one who ran against the wind.

She stained the sky with enraptured red

for such are the strokes of vanity;

and as my father lay quiet, dead,

she proclaimed her love-child, Stephanie.

The stormy world goes circling round.

On barbs of light, lucid raindrops shine;

and a heart could die without a sound

like the fading light of day’s decline.

We grew in a garden of disdain

haunted by secrets of flesh and bone -

one sculpted with fire, the other rain,

one seeking flames, the other alone.

She loses herself in a man’s bed,

in arms of an intimate stranger,

and lies to herself, her heart, her head.

She loves the open arms of danger.

I fell in love, forever, for life.

Butterflies were pressed into my skin.

I will never be another’s wife.

I love him now as I loved him then.

She pressed her body into the night

and slipped between sheets of blood-red stain

and fell from grace under heaven’s height,

crushing her wings on the burning plain.

I pressed my heart into evergreen,

into the poetry of his smile,

and counted fireflies and sealed the scene

to carry it with me all the while.

She always wants what cannot be

by looking without instead of within

and holds her breath like wind on a tree

painting her life with shadow and sin.

I love beyond my power to hold,

washing my hands in a bowl of tears,

and count my blessings as strands of gold

that link the present to bygone years.

To every man, her lies impart

a truth that never rises to be;

and like a dagger, it pierced my heart

when I learned her lies were about me.

In her selfish shroud, she spun her lace.

Her web of woe was woven with tears;

and like a Judas of wilting grace,

her words were as sharp as Roman spears.

Words drain into the cracks of my heart

and splinter me deeply to the core.

Two sisters that live in worlds apart

remain two sisters forevermore.

No matter the lies, one truth remains:

I did not fall into the midnight sun;

and I did not, could not, sleep with stains

of bedding her husband, never, none!

She tried to seduce the man I love,

pitching me face first into the dirt.

No matter the steel or strength thereof,

I cannot pretend it does not hurt.

My love for him springs from holy ground.

From day to night, its glory is spread;

and like a halo, it circles round

and will come full circle when I’m dead.

The echoes of silence lay like stone

upon the words that I wrote her last;

but as she withers and cries alone

and men are just a part of her past,

like her mother, she will mourn her loss.

She will know the truth, beyond, above.

Narcissism is a heavy cross

that leads to self-hatred, never love.

I am proud as springtime’s tulip cup

that flames of glory and gathers round

and joyously lifts her petals up

across this wide swath of sacred ground.

For though I stand with rain in my eye,

my stem is strengthened for all to see;

and the breeze is God’s most wistful sigh.

His sweetest whispers are just for me.

Author's Note

I wish I could say that this poem was based upon fiction. Unfortunately, it is the truth.

Reviews

[CD Campbell]

Linda, Thanks for reviewing my last poem. If you hadn't I would have never looked upon your page and ended up missing something special. On this work you make the rhymes and meter seem effortless and that makes me a little jealous. Haha. The subject matter was heart-rending, so excuse me if I refuse to comment further on it. CD

[Lydia Shutter]

Quite the intense story of love, lust, familial relationships, and how they effect children through adulthood. I am sorry you were part of this story. I hope by writing, you will be able to move forward. Perhaps the words on the paper will be a catharsis. Powerful poetry. Lydi**

[Tate Morgan]

Whoa that was great!! deep well done metered and perfect rhyme I am envious. Beautiful yet sad Bravo!

[David Lewis Paget]

A hard, bitter truth, Linda Marie, one that you have lived and suffered with for many years. You manage to reach deep into your heart to wring out your pain, and perhaps that's the only way to deal with it, to write it out. Sad when someone so near can be so far in proclivity. Time distances us, and sometimes there's nothing for it but to make a clean break.

[Dean]

fiction or fact, your writing is true...a bit of you, to keep close.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you, Dean. You are very sweet. :-) I always appreciate your voice.