Husband Ballad Poems | Husband Poems About Ballad
These Husband Ballad poems are examples of Husband poems about Ballad. These are the best examples of Husband Ballad poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
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Near an Arkansas town lives a man, Truman Brown
in the steep Ozark hills we call home.
Lack of yield from the earth takes its toll on his psyche
and he dreams of the freedom to roam.
His kids work by his side with their mom, a sweet soul.
None suspect devil traits from his bent.
Though his anger inside swells each day like the tide,
he displays not a clue, seems content.
But his heart harbors wrath as he plows rocky land,
and parlays to destroy spirit's peace.
In the dark of his mind reason leaves, hate evolves
for the one he needs most, seeks release.
He quick-steps close behind his wife's chair and pretends
as he bends for a kiss from her lips.
He withdraws wicked blade, slits her throat ear to ear
and her blood streams below, scatters drips.
In her panic and fear, she jumps up, tries to flee
but soon wanes, buckles down on the lawn.
Children scream, race about, overwhelmed by the threat
and retreat behind doors, deadbolts drawn.
But her stout eldest son runs outside to her form,
cradles her in his arms as she dies.
Siblings hide from the blade daddy holds at his side;
he stands mute and stares out through dead eyes.
Dalton turns upside down in the blink of an eye
with the horror of murder so vile,
and the news people race to report sad details
as police chase him down by the mile.
On his mad day in court, all the stores close their doors
o'er the deed of this man, Truman Brown,
while the judge has him bound and declares him insane
but the tale still goes 'round Dalton town.
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014
There is no one to trust,
there is no one who cares,
the pain destroying a caring woman,
and only lies, more lies and loneliness surrounded her.
He ignored her painful screams,
he kept hurting her without regret,
he hijacked her dreams and happiness,
and now he states she is unstable.
She is losing hope,
the only little golden thread,
that made her float.
She is falling in the abyss.
She hears the voices kicking her,
wound after wound.
It is never going to heal.
Cut the pain,
cut the pain.
She has no control over her happiness and life,
but she has control over her death.
Cut the pain,
make it stop.
Copyright © Clementine Hope | Year Posted 2016