Mother's Old Abuser

This one is a little bit intense.

Mother’s Old Abuser

 

Racing down the dusty lanes of Reynolds county

This desolate place they call God’s country

If God was ever here, He left in a hurry, never looking back

I left a lot on these dirt roads, all those years ago

As I hunt down Mother’s old abuser all those things coat my skin in a sticky, grimy sheen

I pass by randomly placed shacks and undergrowth grown over

Upon even casual glance one can see that there are as many hopes and broken dreams littering the ditches as there are shattered bottles and worn-out tires

My eyes cannot seem to adjust to the tunnels of light

Struggling to bring life through malevolently sentry trees

Two left turns and my heart stops

All these years later and how well I still know this place

Almost gone is the path from shed to Grandpa’s house

How much blood paints that path?

As I remove my shoes and gently connect my feet to the earth, my heart races

More than races; thunders, crashes, cascades and collides

Mother’s was not the only blood spilled here

Fifty yards is not so far

Flowers, like liars, randomly litter these wasted fields

This is the way then, that I must go

A light breeze carries old screams, maddeningly chilling

Odd, because I remember so much silence

I have arrived at the exact spot

The black hole, the vortex, the guillotine, the hangman’s noose

I came here to avenge my mother and sisters and brother

How clearly I see my own blood and hear all the words I ever wanted to say

Gone now are the dilapidated walls, the monstrous stove, the dreaded filthy bed

Gone are the mice and fleas and torn shag carpeting

I am denied my right to tear them down

I have come equipped with knives and hammers, saws and mallets and but one match

I cannot even throw stones for there is nothing to break

As I drop to my knees, I am defeated again

So many tears, this place; it steals them all

I rock and shake and cry, I smell it all; perhaps the stench never goes away

This is where my life ended and God is not here

Mother never left her bed; sister’s skin remains fused to stove

So, so many screams

Mother’s and sisters’ and brother’s; and only just now, mine

I beat with hammers and mallets, slice with knives and saws

And from the corner of my eyes comes Father

I strike my solitary match

Burning hate engulfs me as I finish destroying

Mother’s old abuser

Reviews

[Freedom's Child]

Tremendous vivid harsh imagery through the entire poem. The mix of emotion that this piece brought is incredible. Incredible and moving poem, Great Work!

[Texas Greg]

I can very clearly see your fear and resolution as you have conveyed it all very well. Have one called "Little B*****d"-acrostic-I'm considering posting here.
Good job!

[Destiny]

This poem shows a lot of feeling, it's very interesting.