City lights used to draw her,
unafraid of seedy corners,
she’d dress her sexuality
in understated costumes,
a long-legged confidence.
Strutted with the best, cat
eyes – a tigress prowling,
stalking a prey she could
not define, no man could
tame her, no women grasp
the coldness of her heart.
Travelled with an entourage,
first on the dance floor, last
to leave, she was desirable,
a temptress, her vibrancy
an unwavering beacon for
the dispossessed, wore her
independence like a medal,
vowed never to be trapped,
a promise she’d never keep –
Her spark is only legend now,
crowds having all dispersed,
she dwells in shadows, a bent
figure whose glow has faded,
movement stilted, she creeps
avoids bright lights and city’s
core, dislikes gatherings of
three of more, finds strength
on the arm of another, frailty
condemning her as a burden.
Dismissed now, she is society’s
disposable, unremarkable to
behold, the trail of her history
all but lost, save for the occasional
flash of wildness in clouded eyes.
(Image: grammywritesblog.wordpress.com)
One Woman's Quest 