Lifting the edge
Of the darkness
Shrouding memories
I'd rather forget,
I am immediately infused
With long ago hurt
And undiluted fury,
Suddenly protective
Of the child
I once was.
Where were those
Who were supposed to be
My protectors then?
I can still smell him
Who scarred me
Forever,
And she
Who shattered
The image I held
Of the person
I really was.
Why must things happen
To those too innocent
To defend themselves?
Who must then,
Later in life,
Pick themselves up,
Rearrange the broken pieces,
And try to find the strength
To hold those pieces together?
I can only surmise
There must be some purpose,
Some reason for it,
Perhaps to share
My experience with
Those who suffer
As well?
To show that
Strength from surviving
Can become tensile
And thriving a reality?
I am encouraged,
For to do so would mean
My ghostly tormentors
Have lost their control
Over me
And my future,
And what sweet revenge
That would be!
Certainly, the outpouring of your concerns and poetry on the Internet were all can see is a form of catharsis that works for some… Perhaps, through this kind of psychology, you will reach a point where you will want to write poetry of another kind.
The best revenge over your tormentors is to forgive and move on
leaving them to live with their deeds, their consciences, and their propensities. Your life is too short to be dragged down into the pits of hell that others like to build and stoke. Good on you!
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Ron
leaving them to live with their deeds, their consciences, and their propensities. Your life is too short to be dragged down into the pits of hell that others like to build and stoke. Good on you!