No Way Out

Not a person, just an object,
Chattel... property, a slave.
Home - where she is just a subject,
All her love she gladly gave...

To a man who looks right through her,
Treats her like she's made of dirt.
The pain is great - hopes are fewer,
She smiles though her soul is hurt.

Confidence flew out the window,
Crashed into a hard, rock wall.
No kindness for the love to grow,
Waiting for the fist to fall.

Hated by the man she married,
This wasn't in the marriage vow.
Haste is sorrow, better tarry,
Nobody can save her now.

She has a baby every year,
Some live and some... well, they die.
She's fading, but sheds not a tear,
Only God can tell her why.

Every night, as she kneels to pray,
She begs, pleads to be set free.
Does he hear her? She cannot say.
A way out she does not see.

A new babe grows inside her womb,
Lord willing, they will both die.
Mother and child, both in a tomb,
Where no one can hear them cry.

This poem is in an 8-7 syllabic scheme.