the high road

From time to time, one of the women in our writinginsidevt circles hands us a poem, letter or essay she has written outside of class time. The following poem is one such piece that landed in my lap after last week’s circle. Its powerful language and imagery need no introduction.



I see them lie there sleeping
lost in peaceful dreams;
they don’t know my temper’s steeping,
or hear my silent screams.

For now we share a room,
we even share our lives;
but do they know my gloom,
or the emptiness that thrives

calculating and cold,
hard as steel or stone?
My memories grow old
and in my head, I’m all alone.

No one can tame me now.
I’ll run roughshod over you,
tell you when, why and how;
you know that it’s true.

Too hard and tough to cry,
but a tear slides down my cheek
watching time pass by –
just another heartless freak.

Insane thoughts run through my head,
memories flood through me.
At times I wish that I was dead
swinging from an old oak tree.

Locked up in a cell,
a creature in a cage
living through this hell
trying to sublimate my rage.

I know that I must soldier on,
take with me this heavy load;
even though my hope is gone,
I must travel on the high road.