Like an albatross,
Past clings like dross.
Round my bent neck
it hangs in check
by my golden cross.
Standards from long ago;
culture difficult to forego -
I strive to survive
just the daily jive
of struggles to and fro.
I pull out the rusty nail
of old doctrines which impale
the coffin of my life.
Objections are rife,
but my soul isn't for sale.
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Comments about this poem (Albatross by Suzette Richards )
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