Oct 9, 2012

The Watchman






Under his watch, no one could find her
She touches the mirror with migraine knuckles
Things will change tomorrow, knees silently buckle
But how strong would she be, losing her family
O’ the beautiful handbags and expensive things
Still under the watchman, nights of rage bordered the line
Awakening to bitter shadows, eyes of burning sweat
She would make it better with an aspirin
When the pain was killing her inside and out
Today, it rained but there is sun in the room
She is marching , singing his tune. She is playing the fool.
For how long? My dear child close yourself:
Mama will survive as the doctor prescribes a mild sedative.
Sleep comes easy, drowsy evenings of paralyzed fear…
A hesitant hand gingerly strokes her rear.
She panics for the monster is near; the one talking to the choir.
The one she lies for behind the brick layers and green grass.
His smell foul, his look wild and daring.
Peace will reign when the alarm goes off.
O’ to dance on egg shells.
Not a story to tale, for she’s devout and committed to insanity.
And breakfast was his validity with black whistling,
red sarcasm, a blue kiss and rainbow remarks.
If only she could wash her sin in blood. Take it back dear Lord!.
It’s too late as she walks past the mirror. It’s never too late for me.
Her feelings bent like a step child as she repeatedly packs up
the house-- leaving herself behind.

jhp©2011-2012

Stop the cycle of domestic violence and mental abuse


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