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Ken Connelly

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Member Since: Jan, 2007

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Minutes become Hours, Hours become Days
by Ken Connelly

Monday, January 15, 2007
Not rated by the Author.
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Recent poems by Ken Connelly
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A poem of my abduction and return home. How a child develops a bond to their captor.

Minutes become Hours, Hours become Day

 

Roaring, humming, this chariot makes wake.

I hide in the dark, what will be my fate?

Shaggy brown fur covers walls all around.

The wheels keep turning, I can’t see the ground.

Like bandits and robbers yes we have taken flight.

My Father a madman, my Mother not in sight.

Oh Mommy, Oh Mommy I scream deep inside.

Bundles of clothes and crying baby.

My sister gives looks of terror might be.

I hide in the dark, what will be our fate.

Hungry I think, should I make a sound?

He’s gone off the deep end or can’t live without me.

Minutes become hours, hours a day.

Great chariot stops, “Stay here, I won’t be long”.

He leaves us to make phone calls,

This is a hideous place.

Baby brother cries Mommy, Big sister to only be found.

I look out my window, this is not my town?

My Father comes bouncing, pride will be his fate.

Up dark roads, big earth all around.

Soon I will have a new Mommy, my Father explains.

We enter their home, dark wood on the walls.

Sit here, give hugs, stand up, you’re so big!

This is your new home, no you will not talk back.

I’m Aunty, He’s Uncle, this is the only way.

You’ll like it, you’ll love it, there isn’t much choice.

God granted this verdict, Mother’s sins abound.

Alone in the dark, I quite my heart.

No one loves me, where this that I am?

Day turns weeks, weeks into months.

I have a new Mommy, She loves me so much.

I’m given a bath; I’m shown how to eat.

Other Mommy was not proper, this one can perfect.

Cold night I cry mommy, I can hardly hold back.

She’s a bitch and a slut, Satan’s whore.

Not fit to wear a crown.

New school, new friends, new religion to boot.

My daddy has a girlfriend; he says she’s the best.

Months become a year and the police are so near.

Wake up, wake up, Daddy it’s three AM?

The police have come to get me you must come now.

Leave what you have, don’t take a thing.

“Nothing is worth keeping if it saves me”.

All of my toys and things that make me.

Gone like the wind because the “law” intruded in.

I hide in the dark, what will be my fate?

Welcome to Texas, isn’t this great.

I perked slowly and smiled a great grin.

Inside I was dying, what a horrible wreck.

Minutes become hours, hours a day.

Day becomes weeks and weeks become months,

A new school to go too and friends that are swell.

A new religion to teach me and I won’t burn in my own private hell.

Who am I, I have forgotten.  My Daddy says “Womack”.

I don’t remember that name.

I’ve learned not to speak.

To keep my mouth shut.

Little boys know nothing, this one as well.

I am what I am, that’s all they will know.

I hate everyone, my Mother the most.

She left me, she married, and she dumped my poor Dad.

God will never forgive her while she is hanging in hell.

My sister is older, my brother and her so close.

I hide in the darkness, silence my hope.

God hates me; he loves me as long as I play.

This is not fair but who can I blame?

My Daddy met knew Mommy with three more kids to float.

Does she know our dark secret?  Will she tell?

Minutes become hours, hours a day.

Day becomes weeks, weeks became months.

I have new Mommy and we’re moving again.

We’ll live in the forest until Daddy makes use of his hands.

In tall trees I get lost and deny his voice.

I’ll come home when I want to and sleep in my tent.

God hates me I can prove it.  Just look at this face.

We have a new home to live in. like cowboys of late.

No lights run electric and gas to keep warm.

My Father is crazy while digging our water well.

Burn box springs for bedding and sleep on rough sheets.

My skin is so itchy, covered with scabs. It’s just from fishing.

We’ll boil hot water on the stove and fill up the tub. 

Jump in real quickly, scrub - a – dub - dub.

It’s my turn ,it’s my turn ,no four still to go.

Another day itching, my Father’s so swell.

I believe all the lies.  I forgot the before.

Police lights come frightening; their all over the road.

Your Mommy has looking and looking for you.

Aren’t you so happy?  We saved you from him.

She hates me, she hates me.

My Father said so.

People ask questions and cameras all around.

Why did you not call us? We have loved you from far.

I hate you, I hate you. Give me back my Dad.

Long flight to freedom, and presents we get.

Next morning I awake.  She gives me a hair brush.

I stroke her long hair while she sits and stares.

“I think I know you”, Mommy is found.

 

  http://www.dallasnews.com/sharedcontent/dws/news/localnews/stories/DN-abduct_29met.ART.State.Edition2.2908a92.html
 

 

Minutes become hours, Hours become Day
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Reviewed by John Domino 9/6/2008
I vision perceptions from a prison within.
A tough life!
Still, God gave you a gift to write!

God Bless!

Brother in Christ,

John Michael
Reviewed by Lois Christensen 5/8/2008
What a tortured time these kids have. Many do not work out and are never found. It is terrifying to even think about it but it happens and you read it in the news all the time. So sad a time while abducted and the adjustment is quite difficult, but things did turn out in the end in this poem and I am glad. You are quite a person.
Reviewed by ~ Holly Harbridge (Reader) 3/15/2007
A powerful story bravely told. holly
Reviewed by Larry Lounsbury 1/15/2007
A very personal poem, powerful and profoundly moving. It will be a major influence for people to understand the experience of kids abducted.
Reviewed by jude forese 1/15/2007
a captivating and timely write ...
Reviewed by OnepoetGem *the Poetic Rapper 1/15/2007
glad things worked out, quite a story
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