Don't we all wear mask...at one time are another...
She walks alone
Her head held down
She never notices
If anyone's around
I see her every day
As she walks by
One morning I thought
I'd just say Hi
I walked up to her
But she backed away
She didn't have
Too much to say
She seemed afraid
To shake my hand
When she looked at me
I began to understand
Her eye was black
As she glanced at me
She turned away
So I would not see
I walked beside her
Not saying a word
Knowing that silence
Can sometimes be heard
After the third day
She slightly smiled
When I came out
We walked awhile
She started to talk
About her life
The struggles of being
A mother and wife
I noticed more bruises
She tried to hide
She masked all the pain
She carried inside
I wanted to ask her
But I didn't dare
What a terrible cross
She had to bear
Every day we walked
Though her body was sore
She would get quiet
When we neared her door
She looked so afraid
As she'd quickly say bye
Was that a glimmer of
A tear in her eye
She started to wait
Each morning for me
By the oceans edge
She'd stand patiently
Sometimes she would cry
But never would tell
Of the demons at home
Who put her through hell
She would talk of the
Seagulls in the air
Or the different way
I wore my hair
She had a grace about her
A certain charm
But she never discussed
The bruises on her arm
One day I waited
But she never came
The oceans wave
Was not the same
The seagulls weren't flying
Not going anywhere
Could it be
Because she's not there
It was in the paper
The very next day
Woman beaten to death
Her husband to pay
With tearfilled eyes
I walked alone
Every chance I had
To save her was gone
I never asked her
Why her bruises were there
I should have told her
How much I cared
I never told her
She was my best friend
Or to save her life
I'd gladly taken her in
Words left unspoken
Pain buried so deep
I prayed to God
Her soul to keep
Her name written in
Cold hard stone
As the waves roll in
I walk alone
She had a grace about her
A certain charm
But we never discussed
The bruises on her arm
I'm saving this one! I'm sure I'll find a good place for your message on one of my up-coming posts! Thanks for sharing. It is profound. I'll also share it with me friend, who meets with such ladies each Monday.
So true..we have to wear them sometimes..to protect ourselves from those who do us wrong..but it can be difficult for those who care to see through our masks..to find out what's wrong & support/help..mostly because of trust..it's not easy to hide physical hurt & scars..it's the mental ones..which are harder to see..how we are feeling & our thoughts.
You spell it out so well, as it brings to light how the young have to be taught to speak out of any abuse to them and that also applies to wives who are brutalized by their husbands.
Moving poetry on a subject that happens every day, somewhere. Sad.
Such a sad story so beautifully written––and so true. There's a lesson in the story as well. We should never become complacent about abuse. We should never be so empathetic that we let it continue in hopes that something will change. As harsh as it may seem, we need to report any abuse to authorities as soon as possible because as your poem points out, sometimes the results of inaction is worse than making the mistake of acting rashly.
An apology for action unwelcome is much better than not acting leading to tragedy.
Ron
Reviewed by D. Vegas (Reader)
Reviewed on May 13, 2013
So true and very sad. These men carry so much anger within...
The fortunate inherit riches, prestige, positive notoriety. Those not so lucky bear legacies filled with poverty, infamy or, worse yet, the unhinged insanity and murderous urges of their ancestors.
Happy Halloween. A volume of Horrible Haunts & Twisted Tales taken from the horror books La Belle Rouge has written every October for a decade and a half. If you have read her works in the horror genre, you know the invitation is for you to enjoy thr
as Catholics we hid our shame from others but your poem may me think about the need not to be silent anymore--thank you
What a God given talent You have, Linda
Lady Vivian
Jean
Moving poetry on a subject that happens every day, somewhere. Sad.
George
An apology for action unwelcome is much better than not acting leading to tragedy.
Ron
Always,
Deborah
Anna
budd