Submitted by Ann Christine Tabaka
What pain is brought upon my brow,
by a knife stabbed in my back.
A friendship done, without a thought.
A careless act of will.
With such ease we block, what we do not
understand, instead of face to face confront.
How many cry themselves to sleep,
not knowing what was wrought.
Wronged I am, and wronged I stand,
with tears so hot they scald.
Never to know the answer
to the riddle that plagues my bones.
The question WHY, sought out in vain.
The door now shut and barred.
About the Poet
Ann Christine Tabaka was nominated for the 2017 Pushcart Prize in Poetry, has been internationally published, and won poetry awards from numerous publications. She lives in Delaware, USA. She loves gardening and cooking. Chris lives with her husband and three cats. Her most recent credits are: Ethos Literary Journal, North of Oxford, Pomona Valley Review, Page & Spine, West Texas Literary Review, The Hungry Chimera, Sheila-Na-Gig, Synchronized Chaos, Pangolin Review, Foliate Oak Review, Better Than Starbucks!, The Write Launch, The Stray Branch, The McKinley Review, Fourth & Sycamore.