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Poem

I listened with intent
and watched with practiced eye.
That came to me through scream on scream,
word on word and slap on 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 bonds held.
No mark of passing, no retribution on hold.
The screams still remain and bring forth
a new sunrise of guilt to colour the day.

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