Locked away and held prisoner in the depths of her mind,
Written by a woman whose intellect and passion I cannot find,
Invisible lady whose words tickle the soul,
Impossible, it’s unheard of, when the man is in control.
Wit unearthed her sanity would cost,
Terror, mockery, shame, and identity lost,
A trigger providing the only escape,
Solidifies the blow society did shape.
Detesting her name she shall not reveal,
Truth within authorship, there is no appeal,
Gender dismissed when brought to the light,
You know possession, glory, fame…is a man’s rite?
Keep to one’s virtue—chastity most of all,
Lest suffer the consequences, contribute to the fall,
Desire to create a masterpiece in birth,
No truer test exists of womanly worth.
Silenced voice, education not her pursuit,
Horizon fading, exterminates the precious fruit,
Basking in the presence of his revolutionary prose,
Brows furrowed, fragility too complete, veiled eyelashes are what she knows.
Woe is me to find the words of Judith dear,
Echoes transcending the confines of the domestic sphere,
Genius repressed, hostility engulfs her space,
No room for a woman in this time and place.
Shakespeare the victor, her brother the superior,
Mind examined, logically inferior,
Door to greatness, kept in the dark,
Igniting no one, suffocating the spark.
--
Caroline Crowley