poetry critical

online poetry workshop

Plight of Virgins Left Behind

We were born in the caves of our fathers,
ancient warriors, fearless and strong,
our brothers coming of age
in games of siege but when
the others came, with silver eyes
and golden hair, they scattered,
leaving us to hide out in the hills,
waiting for rescue.
When it was clear that only
the strangers would come, we
walked down to them together,
laid willingly in our brothers blood,
gave that which would have been
ruthlessly taken.
Beguiled by submission,
they took us one by one as wives,
swelling our bellies with life.
We learned their language and their ways,
rescued each other by falling in love.
At last, our people returned,
armed with courage and swords,
fierce and thirsty for blood -
fearful strangers we no longer knew.
When our dead husbands lay
stinking around us,
our newborns were taken,
our beautiful children with silver eyes
and golden hair, cut to pieces
on the stones of our fathers.
Honor restored,
they are shocked at our grief,
but they never blame us,
watching from a distance
while we sing lullabies in foreign tongue,
plait small bones into each other's hair.

9 Sep 10

Rated 9 (9) by 1 users.
Active (1):
Inactive (0): 9

(define the words in this poem)
(501 more poems by this author)

Add A Comment:
Enter the following text to post as unknown: captcha


One learns to love what one's got.  A well-written and thought provoking story.
 — technomancer

Recent Best (expand)