8 Years of Hell
I try to imagine what life was like for my mother,
being beaten by the man she loved,
I'm not talking about a slap here or there,
I'm talking beaten within an inch of her life.
I always remember smelling blood,
and the mess that was left behind,
every time my Dad would get in that groove,
where he'd just loose his mind.
I don't remember a lot,
a lot happened before I was five,
but my Mother had no troubling tell me though,
I was the reason she went back most the time.
We lived in a house of fear,
silently we would sit,
trying not to make a noise,
otherwise Dad would have another fit.
Even I suffered from his wrath,
apparently he would punch me across the room,
my Mother would try to protect me,
but she'd get a hiding too.
8 years of hell, she finally left,
the courage she found to run inside,
tired of being a gang members Missus,
she ran so she could have a life.
M.Mahauariki © 2012
Copyright © Murray Mahauariki | Year Posted 2012
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