Aftermath

Picking Up the Pieces

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What used to be rows of little pink houses

White picket fences

Now unrecognizable

Piles of rubbish

 

As I walk down the streets of our life together

It is all the same

Crumbled houses

Fallen family trees

 

Like a spoiled sport

Who sweeps the game from the table

Rather than take a loss

No one will play now

 

It does not take long to see the devastation

Of the storm you mastered

A whirlwind of emotion

Leveling the house we built

 

Chaos sounds like

A roaring wind

Sturdy structures being obliterated

Screaming, crying

Unforgettable

Unmistakable

Sound of fear

 

Now all that is left is the silence

 

The silence

Deafening

Driving one into a state of madness

 

While the rest roll up their sleeves

Trying to create some assemblence of what

Once was

Author's Note

Dedicated to the women and children who survive domestic abuse. Those that are strong enough to stand up in the storm and stop the abuse cycle.

Reviews

[Tate Morgan]

It is a sad tribute to the nature of man that women should suffer so

[NoneOfYourBusiness akaK..]

your metaphors lend themselves to the acts of brutality perpetrated poignantly~ yes~ it is like a wicked storm~ leaving so much damage in its wake~

[Robin]

the fury of the storm is felt strongly in this piece , the after effects haunting ..

[Dream Weaver]

Very passionate on a troubling subject...
I felt every word so profoundly just..
A wonderful write my dear...