Departure

Laying helpless on the hard prickly floor,

Young mothers tend to their fragile child’s wounds,

Moistness breathes into the fabric and cloths,

And leave behind a deep shaded puddle,

Silent weeping fills room after room,

As I search for the source of all their pain,

Closed wooden doors are tightened and locked,

Fighting and fighting to make the images stop,

Rounding the corner I’m forced to the floor,

Regretful warmth and rubbing bones,

White laced curtains are the last things to view,

“I’m done with the others, shall I finish with you?”

Reviews

[Meliss@k]

I want to hate the monster... This poem reminds me of all of the pedophiles in the world. You probably didn't write it to resemble that at all, but that's what I got from this write. Great imagery and emotion. That is all there is to say.

[.........]

Are my eyes watering because the screen is hurting my eyes in the middle of health, or because the strength of this poem brought uncontrollable emotion? I enjoyed this. I think I may read it again. I think the feeling is strong and the words render perfect images of such lovely disaster.