Albatross
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.
poem by Suzette Crous
Added by Poetry Lover
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