She unfurled her wings and took flight
from where she first opened her sight
towards a place she’s never known
what dream or hope fired her sojourn.
Poverty or riches, loss or love
bouying her soul, she soared above
all the ties that would have her bound
that she’ll be free to find her ground.
How well she kept her fears at bay
oft times, all she could do was pray –
when arrows hit and make her fall
her broken spirit will be made whole.
Then she will go on with her quest
with new found courage in her breast
Her suffering transformed her soul
all the more, she gave life her all.
When at last, she closes her eyes
she will behold the greatest prize:
far greater than finding herself
is the repose in her Maker’s breast.
This post was written following the Bloggy Moms prompt for the week:
“We are going to draw inspiration from our own bookshelves. This week I challenge you to choose a book from your shelf and use the title of this book as the title and premise of your story. For example, on my bookshelf, I have The Witching Hour by Anne Rice. If I chose to use this book as my muse, I would title my story “The Witching Hour” then proceed to write a story based on the witching hour, incorporating it into the story. Try to avoid rewriting the book, just let the titles get your muse going. You only have 500 words this week so use them wisely and paint me a scene I will remember for a long time.”
I chose Jim Fergus’ One Thousand White Women as inspiration because I have just read it. The book was a well written semi-historical account of a fictional lady’s journey to the West to fulfill a secret government bargain: deliver 1000 White Women to the Cheyennes in exchange for horses and peace. This book taught me about the Native American culture as Gone With the Wind taught me about the American South and the Civil War.
For this poem, I tried to go beyond my comfort zone – writing in 8 syllables for each line, trying to make them rhyme in aa-bb fashion, or however these terms are called in poetry terms. The task was quite difficult. The search for words and rhymes, I think, made me venture far from the initial design that I had in mind. By the time I reached the last line – I needed to so that I can make the deadline 🙂 – I was tired and lazy. There are 9 syllables instead of 8. I am too attached to this poem to be able to view it more objectively. I hope you find more sense in it than I can.