Penelope, sore-wearied with weaving
with shrouding, unravelling and waiting.
Far too many years has she been grieving
and odious suitors tolerating.
The false excuse of weaving a fine shroud
is worn to flustered tatters high-wind-flown.
Soon, fidelity will be disallowed
and a faithful wife, forcibly betrothed.
Her salvation is warped upon a loom
her beauty and her wisdom wefts a curse
the destiny created by her womb
dictates that she should marry, though averse.
Enraged does she destroy the hated task
what will she say when next the suitors ask?
YOU ARE READING
Dragonish
PoetryPART 1: Seven poems that explore love. The sated wind doodles mischievously no longer the ravening raptor loosed that scratched sharp claws to my unfettered glee. Now are you temperate, husky, obtuse. PART 2: Follows the tale of a persecuted dragon...
