POET

The permission givers are dead,
their fingers fallen like dust
from my wrists.

Nothing’s left to fear – friends live here,
some traveled early or late
through death’s door, their
praise and criticism heard no more.

Only the work remains
to claim before day’s end.
I am who I’ve known
myself to be.

Published by

Cynthia M. Sheward

Cynthia Sheward has written poetry since she was a child. She was born in Massachusetts but spent her young life in New Jersey. She applied her English degree from Arcadia University teaching junior-senior high school in Vermont the 70’s. In the 80s, she and her husband built their own house with their own hands in the mountains of North Carolina. In the 90s, she returned to NJ where she worked for a Fortune 500 corporation until her retirement. Her work has been published in Friends Journal, Evening Street, the Bennington Banner, Fiber Arts Magazine, the Mountain Times and various other print media. She currently resides in Jupiter, Florida.

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