Lost in a Cruel Reality
In the quietness of night,
in the stillness of thought,
she wondered how reality and happiness
had parted ways so effortlessly,
and the dream was just that,
his controlling, his rage,
the jagged breathless life of fear
she never could have imagined
in the play of love’s embrace,
yet she lay there exhausted,
and even sex was less brutal
than the shame of her circumstance,
the path taken so filled with hope.
Dull eyes and slow methodical steps,
led her to iterative days,
enacting a role of demanded compliance,
just to keep peace,
her thoughts like frantic fireflies in a bottle,
silent and contained,
just confused her, made it worse,
so she numbed herself
to a half life,
a forced smile and affable guile,
her soul so deeply buried,
even she had not the hope
it would ever surface again.
Nights were like a grasping chill,
no warmth afforded, barely a breath,
and his demands always leading to pain,
just praying his last drink
fell on the side of sanity,
or too much for cognizance,
yet still, the entrapment was complete,
one wrong move and life in question,
under a brutality of the devil’s whim,
so she lay still, trying not to breathe,
to wake the beast,
living in a nightmare she saw not coming,
and too late to quell.
One night, in a storm of monumental brew,
he staggered home, legless,
growling like a animal,
and she stayed away,
listened to his garbled discontent,
knowing the price of disobedience,
then he burst into the bedroom,
fists flying, words and spit like acid,
and one swing was all it took,
as he slipped on his indignant rage
and broke his neck clean through,
as she, caught between smile and tears,
exhaled, for the first time.
Tony DeLorger © 2017
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Oh my gosh! So tense and such a horrible situation she lived in – till fate took over. Very well penned verse, Tony. Great twist at the end.
Thanks Phyllis, glad you appreciated it. Cheers!
The only part you didn’t add were me and my siblings hiding under our beds and peeking through the agony my dear mama went through under the brutal fists and drunkenness of a mad man who lived with us. I’ve written of him often and will share some of the puke with you here in time. A woman living under the dictatorship of such a beast does it for many reasons, mostly to keep a roof over the heads and food in the bellies of her children, she takes the abuse he shells out. But like all mad dogs they eventually get their day. He broke his neck and that was a good thing, our beast ended up in jail for abusing a young teen, he did not make it to the big house, he was found hung by his own tee shirt in his cell. I cheered when I heard this, at the time I was 17, but I lived under his rule since I was 10, he never hurt me physically, but he abused one of my sisters. I only hope he’s in Hell with all the filth like him who roam the homes of scared and frightened children and their mama’s. Well written Tony, I felt every word.
Much appreciated Vincent, truth often far more potent than fiction my friend, a sad tale of yours indeed. Experiences in life can be harsh and mind altering, and it is a testament to your heart , who you’ve become dear poet. Take care.