Under Scorn

by

Katherine Tildes

She’s under scorn
She’s under watch
She’s traversing the paths of life misguided
Alone yet not
Meandering among the walks of life
No map
No trespassing
No roads leading out
No sign of hope around the never-ending bends

She wonders where she is going
What she is doing
And why she is doing it
She doesn’t understand her life
What has happened makes little sense
She believes in a god and goddess
And has faith
But doesn’t understand organized religion

She walks along
Utterly alone and lost
The map she had to burn for warmth
The compass she broke in fury at the last state park
So she walks along
Humming her little tunes
Talking to the voices of the earth around her
Surrounded in fantasy as always

But what she doesn’t understand
She will eventually have to confront
It will be around the next bend
Waiting in anticipation for her footfalls
Squatting in the grass under the bridge
Eyeing her from the cracks below

She will walk over it
She will ignore it out of spite
And keep on trudging along
Smelling the pretty flowers
Gazing into the sunrises and sunsets
And sooner or later she will turn around and yell:
"Hey you! Yes, you fucker! I’m coming and I’m sick of you eyeing my life. This time it is settled, I will no longer be under scorn."

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Oakland Ode
by: Oscar Pelta
from: Oakland, CA, US

To visit all of Katherine Tildes's poems, click HERE

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