A free verse poem, regarding the sensitive subject of domestic violence against men.
| 5344633| Leanne Frances Cresswell
I have seen the abuse, born witness to the pain, of domestic clash and brawl, as the lights are dimmed and the line is crossed, the lights they dim, in the perpetrator's eyes, as she hits and she hurts and she screams and she smashes sacred life and persona. She bears down like a vulture, circling her prey, relentless with no bridge, the pain she unleashes with her claw hands and vile spews about life and emotional gossip, stab and stab and stab at his shell. She has arrested from him his strength and selfhood, for this story can only cease through his courage, of which he eventually finds, after months of physical and passionate crime. He staggers through a haze of shame, a blur of pride and finds his solace in his children's' gaze, for all tales must spin a happy ending however brief. His safety is secured, his life saved momentarily, but the hysterical grief at his mistakes and aberration from what he believes to be the norm causes the loneliness, which builds and builds until it erupts like a volcano, hot raging lava searing and eroding through his logic. A circle of soul and devotion, so of which he returns, forever in debt to the constable and her constraining bribes.