The Palace

Here’s a recently rediscovered poem that I wrote when I was about twenty.  I suspect that the “beatings” suggested in the text were emotional rather than physical: otherwise it seems surprisingly modern.  It didn’t have a title, so I am calling it “The Palace.”

 

In a dark, deserted palace
Where the sun must never go
Lives a bitter, beaten maiden
Whose Fortune I know.

Many men, they have abused her
With their practices unclean
Now she lives in utter darkness
So her sores cannot be seen.

Somet...