Chamomile's Necklace

by Deborah Breuer

There was a warm glow about her.
Her ora was comfortably warm.
Her skin, delicate to the touch, was like milk.
And her bodes, incomparable to any haven taken shape before her,
Soft curves each having its own character.
Her eyes, too, were soft, but piercing.
Just one look, a gaze, a stare,
And you were addicted.
It hung like the scent of chamomile does after she’d taken a bath in her porcelin tub.

Life was a walk in the park.
Day by day,
She lived in her world,
Unknowing of the many gifts she had to give.
Unknowing of the magic in her touch.
Not realizing all of who she was.

She began to fall,
To sink into the quicksand that was society.
She heard words,
Evil words.
“Whore, Bitch, Slut”
Mom in the corner crying
Dad tightening his belt.
A noose,
Cutting off the life supply to many last hopes,
And he had pushed too far.

Neck broken at the end of a noose,
She thought,
For the first moment to and for herself for a long, forever kind of time.
Viewing for the first time reality,
A reality,
Her Reality.


Posted on 07/30/2008
Copyright © 2020 Deborah Breuer

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 07/31/08 at 01:48 AM

A hell of journey. I really like where you went with this. Some excellent left-turns throughout.

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