And To Think I Once Called Her Princess Poem by Ted Sheridan
And To Think I Once Called Her Princess
Sanctioned by her own conscious she harbors her resentment
In the dirty panties and crusted socks she sleeps in each night
They comfort her in her misery and provide another excuse
To curse God for painful truths she feels he bestows on her alone
Each morning she is awakened by the sound of ravens and crows chasing prey
As she rises from the dead and peers out her only window to the world
She sees them as similar victims of circumstance beyond their control
And she prays they find red meat for breakfast…
She brushes the nights mucus from her teeth and then coughs her sorrows
Into the dry sink as she hangs her toothbrush next to her face in the mirror
She combs her hair with black fingernails and saliva
Hell bent on being seen as ugly she conceals her beauty in colors of sin
And whispers on her way out the door and into Hell
“Let the day be damned”
You paint a very vivid and distressing picture here, Ted. How many of us see these tortured creatures and never give them a second thought? But you see deep inside the despair and pain that is literally transforming her, and bring it to the surface where we can identify it and feel a sadness for the person she once was, and wonder if it's buried too deeply to ever find again. This conveys such a powerful sense of hopelessness, that I cringe as I read it. Linda
My oh my Ted, there is so much pain pouring forth in these words on this page...One feel as if another's pain is wearing you down. Never the less, it is a vivid, thought porvoking write...It's touched me as I shudder as I think of life such as this and hope a way to crawl back up is found.You are a man of exceptional talent in expressing feelings and events through your poems....love, marci.xo
Ted, while the subject may evoke feelings of sorrow and compassion the poetic format carries the day with subdued rythmns and almost casual interior rhyme; it is a masterpiece of understated deep emotional feeling - a strife working its way to the surface. A deft hand indeed! Rgds, Ivan
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 6:18:45 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Over-exceeding and fawning comments are completely unnecessary here. I just want to meet her. ~~sjg