I listened with intent and watched with
practiced eye.That came to me through
scream on scream, word on word and slap
My mind wandered to its own recess
To safe harbour and calmer sea
Where was succour and treat me gentle,
a moral compass with strength of fibre.
Instead to tie me down and roll with
suppression, a weakened road until
journey’s end. Re-sowing that furrow with
visions of war, destruction without refrain.
No acceptance of truce to save the young.
And in your eye shall grow this stain.
This Mark of Cain remains as testament
to the power of one soul over another.
And when this life ends this mark, this riddled
sore is carried over to begin again
Pandora’s box with hope removed
contains this mind of youth,
baring plaster o’er the cracks of despair.
The seeds of doubt retained within,
the low esteem to fester like a weeping
wound. Salvation lies within a temple sought.
A She from which to learn.
A muse from which to draw.
A guide to lead until strength grown.
With which to fight this Gorgon’s child
The spawn of the triumvirate.
But, the strength desired, the muse to be drawn
lays disappeared beneath a crumbling fear and
shadows felt. A surface of lies so thinly veiled to
hold back the tides of doubt and damage caused.
Finally, to watch the tormentor’s life drift away
with no spark of redeeming light, or release from
No mark of passing, no retribution on hold.
The screams still remain and bring forth
a new sunrise of guilt to colour the day.