Her Disillusionment

Soul Poetry



Upon a sigh,
she again rises
to sameness

while words uttered
spew from silent aches-


'Its grown so tiresome,
so tedious,
so very damn prosaic.'


-As she once again,
sets out upon a day,
already spent,
in its first few moments
of its awakening.


Resigned and relinquishing
she moves,

For what's the hurry
in rushing the pain?


It'll still be there-
lurking in her shadows,
and demanding
of her will.


Her lackadaisical mood,
in not the product
of a weakness,

but that of a strength,
she requires, to endure.


Nor 'tis it the effect
of this long-suffering state.

But more
the apparant result,

of her disillusionment.


Author's Notes/Comments: 

View cathycavalcante's Full Portfolio