"Plight"

Prostitute for pleasure, hide your heart from love.
You cannot seem to face the truth, no matter what it's of.
Is love a fear you need to hide? Or is it something else?
Perhaps your heart has tired, enduring constant pelts.

Over and over, time and again,
The pendulum swings, marking time until when
Your prison is empty, and the pain's all but gone,

And again you wish, your labor is done.

You walk alone, late into the night.
Regretting each moment, of this dreadful plight.
As the sun rises before you, walking home yet alone.
You think about someone you may have once known.

You look in the mirror break down on the couch.
Where again you wake up, to place the cash in a pouch.
There's a knock at the entrance; soon you'll lie bruised on the floor.
Still you'll rise to your feet, and make your way to the door.

Prostitute for pleasure, don't come to me no more.
I have found love for another; I don't need a lonely whore.
Though sometimes in the still of night, I lie alone in pause
Contemplating where I am, and what may be the cause.

I wonder what you see, when looking in that mirror.
A face wroth with pain, a heart of bursting fears.
The freedom you so long to own, eludes you in the night.
As I lay in this empty space. reflecting, my own plight

Learn more about this author, Bill White.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.

---

Add your voice

Know something about Short stories: Need?
We want to hear your view. Write now!