The night air is dry and the moon calls to me,
Those syrup like whispers seek to set me free.
Is bruised skin and tears not enough for you?
Control is what you want but you get it from few.
Scare her with promises of blood on the floor,
But cower and hide when the police knock on the door.
Pathetic little man, lonely and sad,
Your wicked ways have sent me mad.
Thank the gods for the moon and the whispers it said,
Otherwise, through the window I would of fled.
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Author:
ameliewho (
Offline) - Published: September 14th, 2016 21:30
- Comment from author about the poem: How many children witness the abuse of a parent? How many see their mother being beaten bloody, or their father covered in bruises? How many kids today feel as hopeless as I did?
- Category: Sad
- Views: 42
Offline)
Comments1
Sorry you had to witness. Tell me about the syrup like whisper. Syrup flows very slowly.?
"Syrup like whispers" refers to the wind. As a child listening to my mother cry and get hurt, listening to the screaming and shouting, the wind used to calm me. To block out the noise I used to open my bedroom window and sit on the ledge, listening to the wind, watch the clouds and the moon. I'd contemplate jumping from the window and running away ("through the window I would of fled") but after a few minutes of the cool wind on my face I'd feel a little better.
I described the sound of the wind as syrup like because to me it was sweet, soothing and smooth. And you're right, it flows slowly, it's not a chaotic splash like water, it's calm and reassuring to me.
The sound of the wind still calms me today, any sound of nature really. Wind, storms, rain, rustling trees, birds singing. It reminds me that not all hope is lost, it was really the only thing that kept me (mostly) same as a child/pre-teen.
Thank you for reading, I hope this explanation made sense to you..😊
Sane* not same.
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