The Scarlet Letter

The Scarlet Letter

I am the scarlet letter,

drunken harlot, effigy.

I am the distant harbor,

and the present misery.

I am the soul of understanding,

and the self-indulgent dream.

I am not the perfect people,

or their technicolor stream,

of solace ever ending,

in their limitated thoughts.

I am not the bitter harvest,

Or their spring forget me knots.

I am love and ever wanting,

ever needing in my ache,

to have this joy released,

I bend and then I break.

I scribble and scrap,

at all of their ambiguity.

While the words are drawing simple,

cutting callous to the bone,

and the phone is ever ringing,

and the robots, on they drone,

because they think I know the secret,

because they think I hold the key,

and theyโ€™re wanting, wanting, wanting,

and Iโ€™m wanting to be free.

The leaves are crunching dry,

on the wet ground beneath my feet,

and the world is a disaster,

but it doesnโ€™t bother me.

For my room is the passageway,

into another world,

we raise the flag at midnight,

the dagger and the pearl.

He pried the oyster open,

he gave the gem to me,

I am his only lover,

Drunken harlot, effigy.




The Scarlet Letter
October 18, 2012
Teri Skultety



This one if from my forthcoming book of poetry
due out… 2019-2020.


Featured image, Resting Roses, Teri Skultety



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