10. Clandestine Endeavor
My skin etched with textures,
People asking me questions,
"What happened to the maiden fair?"
"Did her delicate face cave in despair?
My doe eyes traveled to my husband's stoic frame,
No scent of beldame, a floral claim.
He smelled of flowers, peonies, and lilies,
His ironed dress shirt crumpled showed no aptly.
Aware of his ventures in the forest deep,
But who am I to cast shadows, sow the seeds of sleep?
I, a slave to his desires and whims,
A trophy, an eponym, as society hymns.
Regrettably, my name is but a whispered refrain,
Wife first, in his haim, my identity waned.
I owe everything to him, from my soul to my breath,
I am only an accessory to his growing wealth.
As my age's number increased,
The number of his flowers never surceased.
Questions haunted me like shadows in the night,
I was a goddess who used to be a sight.
Now scorned for daring to speak of trust,
While his lust, uncontained, crumbles to dust.
"He craved for young beauty,"
How could such things end in awry?
Once the apple of his adoring eye,
Promised eternal love, now I question why.
He promised to hold me forever,
But now I'm left with his clandestine endeavor.
YOU ARE READING
Untold Tales
PoetryPoetry. As we venture into the depths of the woods, our voyage leads us into the sylvan realm where languishing nymphs reside, burdened by sorrow and constrained to silence for it holds secrets that will cause havoc once unraveled. In the gardens wh...
