The Bad Thing
Softly she stumbles,
Down past the rooms where her children lie sleeping,
Down the dark stairs she goes cautiously creeping,
No light required, her feet know the way.
On one hand soft fingers hold tear stained note lightly,
The other a fist on which knuckles show whitely,
Fear, rage and shame are all mingling tightly,
As outside the nighttime brightens toward day.
Soon she’ll be leaving the note so deceiving,
her heart deep in grieving for memories lost, while upstairs the villain snores loudly, sleeps soundly, midst blankets and pillow as if by storm tossed.
And young ones will wonder at lives torn asunder, how silently thunder can come in the night, filling lifes pages with a nightmare of rages, forcing the caged bird to finally take flight.
This entry was posted on March 28, 2017 by KC. It was filed under Green mouse ice cream!, ice pops!, lovesongs, Smell of blue!, social commentary and was tagged with abuse, abuse awareness, dysfunctional family, Family, rage, runaway, shame.