All posts by B @ Inside A Poets' Cage

Tragic Painting 

Crawl inside this decorated masterpiece. 

Crawl in the garden of this hollow fairy tale. 

Crawl in the trenches to gasp for air.

Crawl inside this lost graveyard. 

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Crawl inside this wound of romance. 

Crawl in the river between anger and hate. 

Crawl in the carnival to laugh at despair.

Crawl inside this forgotten casket. 

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Crawl inside this broken melody, 

Crawl in the words of this pale chapter.

Crawl in the tainted memories. 

Crawl inside this tragedy without a trace. 

The Letter I Never Sent

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Several years have passed,
emotions pouring out to a blank page day after day.
The courage was present as it was written,
but my heart was held captive.
I lacked the gumption to place it in the envelope.
My foolish pride is sitting quietly on a hill,
not feeling a breeze or gazing into the midnight sky.
It’s presence lives in danger and is isolated.
The fears that I kept close to my chest are chained and bound.
I sense laughter and stupidity if I wore my heart on my sleeve.
Perhaps this approach, philosophy, explains why I am sitting at a park bench by myself on a Saturday afternoon.

Several years have passed,
the letter sits underneath the lamp at my desk.
It reminds me to push forward and to take a leap of faith.
Today the courage is alive and have left my cocoon.
The more I learn about the opposite sex,
the more I discover more about myself.
I have charm, wit, intellect, and heart.
I have style, humor, and hope.
I believe in myself and have so much to offer.
The fears that I once had have disappeared.
Perhaps this approach, philosophy explains why there is love in my life.

The Hawthorn Tree, Fire, and Waterfall 

She mumbled words of Dylan’s poetry staring at the waterfall. Often times she sits Indian style below the Hawthorn tree. She reflects upon her childhood and her insides become numb. She has tried for years to store these memories in a treasure chest without a key.

She spoke two words of pain gazing into the fire in the distance. The fire reminds her of those two words “Stop” and “Please.” She has tried a lifetime to erase the distorted glimpse of his face.

She spoke a thousand words in therapy in her 30’s. Often times she drives by the Hawthorn tree and see its aged. The fire is no longer there. She is a poet, writer, with a heart of copper.

She published a book of a hundred thousand words in her 40’s. The words that drip from her tongue feel like the waterfall. She is educated, accomplished, and respected.

As Her Mascara Runs


The silver bracelet falls on the crooked pavement as her mascara runs.

Her bedazzled mindset sits in a empty jar.

Her pockets are empty as she fumbles for the keys.

His presence consumed her existence.

He stood as a curse with deranged tattoos.

She is entwined in failure, mediocrity, and her bones are as fragile as her captive heart.

She raised the white flag but clearly he didn’t recognize her surrender.

The discomfort and turmoil scatters through her veins.

The ache and lost flame disappeared in their youth.

She has outgrown his lack of maturity.

She drove away recognizing to move forward was to let go.

Never ending Star 

Love stood in the doorway between the rooms of anger and hate.

Love found the pillars of echoing hearts and sang to freedom.

Love gave the seekers the answers that they were looking for.

Love could not wait for the ignorance and the blind.

Love held hands with the soulful hope and rainbow faith.

Love doesn’t need flavor or added preservatives to shine.

Love is not a shadow, glimpse, or a ray.

Love is the never ending radiant star that we choose not to see.

Love is something that we are afraid to see or we discard out of the lack of patience.

21st Century Woman 

She baths in exasperation as the void loses its twinkle.

The war inside this tarnished room is full of treasured cannons and words of conviction.

The breath of freedom is naked but torn.

She speaks of forgotten promises and diabolical men who take and not ask.

She is regarded as cattle and not an equal.

She escapes to the river to seek tranquility and peace.

Her hands are worn from cooking, cleaning, and being a servant.

A voice of reason spoke like a king without a crown.

The voice echoed equality, respect, and wisdom.

She drank the water from the river and cleansed her heart with a lullaby.

The voice gave her the strength to rise and speak of truth.

This is the 21st century woman who has no fear and will stand on her two feet.