Tag Archives: love

Why Do People Hate This Way?

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I don’t understand adult wickedness
Troubled violent people in a mess
There is no scope for a clear reason
To exist within or near their circle
The terror they bring, what on Earth
Is their meaning? The evil intention
Scares their victims to shreds
Blood runs cold, blood runs freely
When the violence begins bluntly
Pressing on a vulnerable body
What hatred in their hearts they hold
Sinking to the gutter.
Seeking only the power
To control to terrify to kill
Leaving deep scars on hearts
That are not ever meant to heal
Confusion hurt pain
That lasts for months, years
Why do such as these hate this way
Ignoring the consequence
Flirting with a prison sentence.
Flinging fists, strangleholds
Pinning down their victims
Scum is not even a suitable name
For the attackers have no shame.
These have no feelings, what game
Are they intending to play?
Stalking their victims each and every day,
Menacing those who were made scared.

I am not cut from the same cloth
I have no violent intent to others
My offerings are tenderness and care,
I could never strike someone weaker.
It is cowardly to hurt a child or woman
With fists, big hands, kicking,
I vomit at the sight of them
Harming less strong and abled victims
Every day I hear of husband anger
Turn to merciless cold danger
The child beaters are everywhere
Like a curse that turns sour our very air
Regular slaps, put downs, insults, punches
Clearly such revolting men and women
Have no love for their spouse or children
Have no real capacity to love
Only themselves to distraction
The evilness to seek satisfaction
Through dishing out pain and humiliation
They are worse than wild beasts,
Depraved souls seeking subjugation
I don’t lower the standing of humans
To thinking perpetrators of violence
Are anything other than gutter trash
Why do such people hate this way?
I don’t understand the where for or harm
Nor do I waste my time wondering why
What happened to their humanity
They despise goodness and decency
Their abuse and threats met only
By the weight of the law occasionally
These low life escape retribution
Which would be more satisfactory
More fitting to match their savagery.
From where does my anger come
Is there a latent nest of confusion
Settled within me waiting to emerge
When I learn of people violence urge.
Is it because someone has been angry at me
Or have I witnessed too much pain really
Caused by violence to vulnerability
Towards men women and children
Too weak to resist superior strength.

For decades I have actively protested 
Set up support for victims of bullying
For really people violence is bullying.
Bullies can only be satisfied by the pain
They inflict on their weaker targets
Such is their grim satisfaction and yet
They have no shortage of victims
To speak to people who were bullied
Maybe in childhood through neglect
Or active violence, threats, put downs
By adults parents teachers clowns
Maybe attacks by partners spouses
Those you thought you could trust 
The destruction is almost complete
The scars from the pain go deep
Why do such people hate this way?
My meagre words of empathy
Seem so pathetic as I listen keenly
To those who have received violence
Those gratified by punching, the consequence
They are wilfully blind towards.
Not a moment of feeling inwards
Occurs to sociopathic man or woman
They have no love towards another 
Only contempt hatred disdain no other.
The idea of a killer who likes the feel of blood
Oozing between their savage fingers
Is fascinated and gains a carnal pleasure 
Watching their victim fading from life
Wanting this control using their knife.

My disgust towards the perpetrators
Sometimes is raw indignation
Absent of sympathy or tolerance
Such violence forced upon weaker souls
Penetrates my heart leaving holes
That need the healing of the universe
Revenge towards the bully is tempered
By thinking of repercussions
Towards the victims of assault and battery
No need to bring the week more misery.

Childhood traumas caused by hitting
Last a person all their life through
It lives within them always, it is true
Abusers, child haters, wife beaters, bombers
Will find no understanding within me
My instinct is to be between victim and bully
Is profound it will move me to action
To provide in some small way protection.
Whether Israeli bombing of innocent children
Or domestic torturing of victims
My ire will grow quickly towards them
The givers of violence I show no kindness
They would not understand niceness
For they spit upon those they harm
They despise those people they hurt
They try to squash them into the dirt
For some there is no escape, not today.
Why do such people hate this way?

Why Do People Do It?

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Why do people try to push me off the edge of a cliff,
Saying “you won’t mind – you don’t have feelings”
“You don’t mind if a trample all over your heart,
After all it is only made of mud and stone,
There’s nothing going in there so why moan?”

In innocent days spent at work trying to extract
All the poison darts aimed at me for no reason,
Surely, we could slice Peter’s heart up into bits
He can’t possibly feel anything, it is no surprise,
I mean look at him dour, stupid with dull eyes!

Don’t worry about telling him his father died
It doesn’t matter for he has the heart of steel
When we hurl abuse at him and he just stands still
Like an unfeeling statue with no expression
Beneath contempt he is with no intention.

Why worry if he is upset about the passing
Of his only father – it doesn’t worry me none
We don’t need to ask him how he feels 
He has no real feelings so why bother to question
There are more important things to do like watch TV.

We can’t be bothered to explain to Peter the dullard
Why he should not go to his mother’s funeral 
After all he has no place in our family at all.
A person such as this can not possibly feel
It doesn’t matter if he can – does it really?

Recognition of other people’s humanity
Through the fact that they have feelings 
Is lost on many people and they don’t care!
Some despise their own feelings and dare
To transfer their disgust on to other people.

Tumbling through space as I leave the edge
Of the cliff far behind me waiting for the hurt
That comes with meeting the ground below
My tears warm my face and wet my t-shirt
Feelings extinguished by an unfeeling family.

The Forbidden Fence

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The old rustic fence, listing at the end of the garden
Looking forbidding, yet tantalising.
When I was very young the fence was too high
Maybe not so brilliantly painted
Now naturally, against the sky, tainted.

Tufts of rough grass, enticing a tumbling foot
Looking innocent, from a distance
Like the wall the other side of the fence
I thought one day I shall look over
To find out what was on the other side

Many times I visited the end of the garden
Hardly noticing what lies there, at the end
Many times the feeling of foreboding
But never enough motive to investigate
My thoughts ran further that mere gates
My dreams of the beyond were with me
Day and night.

My wandering mind could try to leap the fence
But always it was higher than it might
Seem from a great distance
I summoned an extra helping of steeled nerves
On more than one occasion
Only to find myself in an invisible cage upon
Which set a force that would repel my efforts.

The rains washed the colour to dismal grey
The wood was tattered, felt like clay
Splinters finally invaded my hands
As I tried my luck at survey
But the years hadn’t destroyed the forbidden
Secret that must surely have lain
The very other side of the shaky fences.

Thoughts lanced the languid days of summer
With spectres and monsters
For the imagination is never satisfied
Without a sighting of what lies beyond
The near obsession would wreak dismay
For a conjured fantasy would only delay
What really had to be done.



Part II

For over twenty five years the mystery was shelved
The fence had all but dissolved
Into micro chasms in my head
The leaden expectation invaded my dreams in bed.
Those many years later at the funeral of a thought
I clasped an empty embrace
Let forth condolences, a trace
Of sympathy to help wipe away the dark tears
The drying attracted my eyes to the street tiles
My eyes sped along geometric lines
I couldn’t hold my breath
A fire was started behind my eyes
But darkness reappeared.

In the following minutes as the sun raged in
I was kneeling
Cleaning a large stain from the tiles
The sun hindered
The heat hinted
The sky was red tinted.
The stain was the colour of creosote.

My knees chafed merrily as mourners knelt in unison
The scrubbing of stains seeming not unusual
The cleaning was a sensible way to mourn
Everyone who could see the fence
As the priest sighed prayed,
Commenced the cleaning.

During the half hour it took over fifty people to clean
Passers-by smiled, they offered advice
Their teeth lied we winced our apologies,
How do you explain fifty people scrubbing the pavement
Outside a church
When the sky was tinted red?

I paid particular attention to the detail
of the carved patterns
That lay within every forty tiles
My eyes were magnetised
As I scraped an unwary elbow against someone’s fence
The cut was shallow the blood warm, the fence old,
In licking the wound the dream was played again.

Like the re-releasing of Gone With The Wind
The fence was now showing on the main screen
Energy spouted into every crevice of memory
The dream
The Fence
The Foreboding – 
	They had all revisted
The creosote catalyst had reacted 
I’m in mourning
Incredulous
In the forbidden place.

The fence was warm in the dying sun
My fingers throbbed 
The work having been done
My eyes were strobed
I struggled a sigh as realisation stepped in
I staggered as a new image awakened.

I’m on the other side of the fence...
In over thirty years of travel and dreams
The fence loomed large it seems
But now the cleaning is complete
The fence was fading in the heat
The sense of the forbidden view
Had collected a history of blue
The fence had nails
That rust in the sea air
The shiny stainless steel
Hadn’t a care 
It now had to bear
The consequence
Of dull ignorance.

Am I standing in my dream
Or is the dream standing in me.

The fence won’t go away
But I’m so much bigger
Than the uttered word
That I feel ridiculous,
However could anyone be afraid
To look over the shaky fence.

The drifting dream carries on

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Is it a dream?
What I sense it seems
Like the drifting dream that carries on,
Flying over soft fields of buttercup words
Unable to land as yet, it’s absurd.

Dreams drift in and out and can’t settle,
I can see a wooded area where birds rejoice
Their songs fill my mind, it’s my choice,
I can’t join words to their shrills and whistles
But it is as maybe, it is after all a dream.

Sliding over mountains purple without rage
Their majesty projects an unrealistic stage
Who would want to climb every one of them?
There are those who consider themselves to be brave
They would try and try again, their face to save

To prove a kind of recklessness out far
Where with a grizzly bear they would spar
And blood would be their scant reward
What are they to prove, in this sliding dream?
Clouds tinged with the dying light of the day.

They glide into my gaze escape attention I’d say
I mean who notices them or their colour?
at least there is no argument about their sound 
For there is none, a factor in their favour
I watch clouds as they drift into my hair

I kiss every facet of them, never is there a spare
Space I leave untouched, not this day.
In cities which drain their feelings,
What do people notice in the clouds, they say
“What clouds? I don’t see any, not at my feet”

As they hurry along never lifting an eye upwards.
Clinging on to gossamer thin wisps of droplets
I hunker down wishing my day was longer yet,
No surprises rise up in the cloudy domains
So disappointment will steadily release the reins.

Damp rows of roses dripping perfume into the air
The water from a tall pink tinted waterfall is there
Talking, as it does, to passing animals and birds
Swathes of yellow daffodils giving up their task
As tulips begin to show how to lower their masks

Lines of soldiers waiting to be taken to hell
In a boat made of past warriors bones which tell
What rain droplets will slowly slide along noses
The men watch them as water falls to the ground
Many dozens of frightened souls not a sound
From anyone, no questions are asked 
Only insane Generals barking orders aloud.

Why can’t they walk along paths of roses 
Throw away their weapons and uniforms
Naked amongst the bushes could become the norm
When a man takes his life into his own hands
who doesn’t lend it to another, to those insane for power,

Become part of nature and worship the importance
of real nature’s love that grows without interference.
Seeing the point of view from that of clouds drifting
Where questions of the mystical collide with prayer
Revealed to the world as the brightest lights of all

The mind is churning out messages to one and all
Try to capture one if you can
Hold tight keep it in your hand.
In meadows where grass grows the tallest I am surround
Listening as I do to every natural and sensual sound
 
Dig deep to find the brightest energy escaping around
What satisfaction in this natural place can be found?
Watching as the day starts to dim and shadows abound
Two nude lovers covered in soft red roses 
They grasp the scent as their bodies are joined

The natural act of love they display and enjoy
The warmth of the tongue is the language of love 
The stiffness of the wand is the gift from above
The wetness of the nest is the sign of the climax
The look upon their faces as at last they relax

Tells a story that can be told a thousand times over
A natural and sensual setting for the naked lovers.
Sweet talk rests softly upon their ears smiles are rich
Declarations of love are exchanged there is no hitch.
They join the drifting dream as it carries on

Thoughts they cannot pretend dance in the fires
Which reveal over and over again their deepest desires,
In warm feelings they melt into the natural vibrations
Upon which all in nature seek their satisfactions,
It’s not only flesh that can ask the right questions
 
Truth will stride with trust in the darkest hours,
keep your dreams in your hearts reveal only a little
let the strength of determination keep you from unsettled
dreams you have, those to which you are entitled
those to which you deserve, stay only within circles.

What do you want to be realised, listening to a call
that embraces a background of simmering gentleness,
leaving clues being an advocate for the natural oneness
realising our sensuality is vital to our emotional survival;
sitting upon a dune that cascades sand at every second 

My mind’s eye goes out to sea and collects my memory,
that persuaded my inner self that there is more to see
than what we think we can perceive, dreams are electric 
they are powered up by love and understanding, a trick
that we can all enjoy, every girl and every boy.

Lively are the shadows in the approaching night 
Meaninglessness is the verse they wish to recite
I turn my back on it and wait for the following light
With eyes shut the drifting dream carries on.
With ears pricked all sounds are absorbed upon

An instruction from a thousand previous times
When darkness over took meaning and laughed
As it watched the pain taken on by many lovers
Those who were persuaded that paradise can be theirs
If only they would do as they were told, to be spared

Much worse than what was on offer – such is the evil
That comes readily to some without any real effort
It is as easy as taking a breath, controlling without thought
For the consequences to themselves and to others ensnared
With the lies the drama the sneering, with teeth bared 

They take a dramatic bite from the inner mind and laugh.
Conclusions confusions and intrusions to the bleeding heart
Is not their concern, nor do they even know this little part.
In times when I feel that I want to collapse into small pieces
Drifting dreams are over head it’s their energy that releases

Pictures of how we really look to others – an alien aspect
For our own perceptions, a different opinion I expect
We receive as an honest description grips our hearts,
We cannot deny it nor do we wish to, not any part
Of the drifting dreams that carry on in to our past.

Future drifting carries weight so fine it is nought
Into every crevice of memory, every hidden word 
There is a meaning waiting to be discovered 
A drifting dream carries a thousand souls rejoicing,
The sound is powerful and rejects all false choosing

To resist the natural is like creating a dark situation
Where curses dance freely with fine attention
Could they not be knocked down to size at all
How much effort is needed to make them small 
Insignificant ants that plague each and every heart,

We cast them aside we rehearse we play the part
We look to the heavens at last in every second
As we see the drifting dream that carries on.

What It Is to Be Without

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Without what? as I have been without I don’t know.

Feelings of being so small knowing no one notices me,
From an early age I learnt the harshness of adults,
Making me feel at once, unwanted, now – unworthy!
I was born 10 months after my elder brother 
Clearly, I was not planned, nor wanted, I know.
Playing second fiddle to my older brother 
Filled me with frustration and certain anger,
I was the also ran brother, arriving unwelcomed,
Early memories of sexual abuse cast down 
My feelings of self-esteem – what is that?
I was often shy and blushed for no reason,
My needs were unmet and love was deprived 
No one took what I said seriously at all, why?
I don’t know.
My love of music at an early age spurred me on
To ask for a guitar for my birthday to learn on.
I was given a plastic toy guitar to play upon.
The disappointment of not getting a real one
Made me go through the floor and down to hell
It was the worst birthday I had ever had.
No one took me seriously no matter what I said
These were the early days of feeling rejected 
It is why I take rejection or people saying no to me
In a rather difficult way – but I cope steadily.
I was ripped away from my best 2 friends
at the age of 5 years – the harshness of adults.
Because my family decided we were moving
I felt a kind of shock like the sky just fell in.
School was tolerable apart from the petty rules,
But my family were never acceptable to me 
I knew I was not accepted by them anyway.
When I reached about sixteen I discovered poetry
I have been scribbling away ever since really.
None of my family wanted to read my poems
They thought I was going a bit funny
so they shunned me, and my poetry.
Does a marriage bring with it being wanted?
Yes, it does – but I never felt wanted by my wife.
It is a feeling I have had to live with all my life
Being unwanted, what does this really mean?
A 30 year marriage built on sand
A precarious existence with many interrogations
Accusations - not believing a single word I said,
Female friends of mine were tracked down 
By my ex-partner – but I don’t know why,
Because I never knew at the time only years later,
Treated with indifference and coldness when 
The old jealousy got the better of her,
5 years of no affection, no contact – destroys;
Living all the time feeling as if some catastrophe
Was about to happen – so I had better watch myself
In case I cause more reasons for the questions questions questions
Wantedness is the cornerstone of my happiness
I have yet to feel whether I am being wanted 
So this causes great sadness.
There is a pain that sits neatly in my chest
Makes me feel like an unwanted guest.
I have anger inside of me under control
It never appears publicly 
It is there just smouldering calmly without relent
In private I have displays of anger
Shouting until my throat hurts.
Some say I am a kind, nice and caring man 
And then they take advantage of me 
Thinking I am some kind of mug asking to be done.
Feelings of being so small knowing no one notices me,
From an early age I learnt the harshness of adults,
Making me feel at once, unwanted, now – unworthy!

Strands of Words

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There are strands of words I put together at random,
Now I discover there are some spaces between them,
The spaces are filled with music that I did not put there,
Beautiful music from where I know not but somewhere.

There are strings of sentences I manage to combine,
Each ending with a sigh only audible every time
When I breathe inwards collecting the sense of them,
But what meaning in between can be revealed then?

There are small paragraphs I have crafted this night,
That seek only to reveal the brightest of bright light, 
What purpose is the meaning when revealing happens,
Is it a joke, a phrase to ridicule what comes from my pen.

There are longer paragraphs potted with words too sound
To be dismissed like a cavalier wave of your hand,
What can I do I am sitting at the beginning of this page
Looking about me for meanings – this could take an age.

There are pages of words swimming around in pools of blood
That have sweated all the droplets from me – a real flood
Of words, phrases, holding the knives for someone’s back,
Ready am I to shove the blades right in so life is lack.

There are chapters of my life that I wish to happily discard
But I warn myself – life is hard enough but to be this hard?
What is the purpose over creating mountains to climb,
Am I to boast to all and sundry that this work is all mine?

There are books I have in my hand all of them incomplete
Why bother starting another one when I know I will defeat
The very reason why only my words are to be displayed;
Do I conjure a pattern or words only to have them slayed?

There are libraries full of books that I will never read
Nor ever know most of the titles or authors indeed,
This is the paradox, how could I have met these words
And not understood a single one, this is too absurd!

There are streets of libraries but I have ignored them all
I will use my own words – I write them no matter how small
The meaning or how great – to stir the mind into action,
My laurels I have rested too long for my satisfaction.

Opening the Door

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When opening the door to reality, the stars seem to shine brighter
And the weight of the world’s worries became lighter
For the open door looks outwards and inwards
To a place where time stands still
To a moment where movement is all but nil.

Opening the door to let the sun-reality stream into the mind
Isn’t an excursion into a new religion, you’ll find,
Hymns aren’t necessary nor are prayers
For the opening door ignores the worshipping crowds
For the reality, when the thoughts fly easily are allowed.

When opening the door we can hold hands with the past
Speak to our relatives who passed through this doorway
For the opening door leads us on eventually to explore
Our inner spaces as intrepid explorers discover the new world
Our inner silences can drown out the illusion we know only too well.

Opening the door bestows a responsibility on all who gaze beyond
For the reality is there to be explained, to be, at last, known
Ignore the scenes what is behind the opening door
You will live as a lizard scratching the bare floor
With only a boulder to rely on, for comfort and love.

I open the door on to the reality which wants us to know
We can tune in, if we want to, if we can only become slow
Expanding awareness a thousand fold 
Gazing as the door opens still wider, I see the gold
That lies hidden in the hearts and minds of everyone’s soul. 

Behind the opening door cosmic awareness
Becomes like a gigantic puzzle
As each piece connects with a larger piece
That connects with the whole that lives inside us all.

Violet indigo blue green  yellow orange and red
Streams the colours as they shine in my head
A spectrum of truth
That shines upon the path
Leading through the opening door
Leading on to where the love is more.
Real than each dawning day
More real than anyone could ever say.

You may find your pot of gold
In the rainbow heart
You feel as you become a part
Of the universe that is you and within you
That love is you and you are love
Not at any time will you despair
Having opened the door with such care.

Once the door becomes a glittering show of reality
It will fade away into infinity
Your heart will join with your head
As you wave to all the people who are dead,
Listen to their laments and advice
The door stays open – so should your mind.

I’m in Rapture, the lake will save me

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My arms are outstretched and very wide 
As I try to capture you floating nearby,
Your rays of sun are hitting the backs of my eyes
And the dance of angels are just starting,
There are cascades of lights warming the air
As I go wandering in and out of clouds everywhere,
So that you can explore what the world wants of you,
Are you surprised the world takes notice of you;
I am not!
You are in the infinite variety of words and song,
I cannot choose the best of them, I am always wrong
But with you within my measure, I can feel right again,
I dance on the worn out ashes of time and space
I cannot joke with the moon nor look into its face,
But with you inside my private surrounds I can smile
You are the woman who is not content by taking a mile,
There are consequences for not being as one ought to,
I can’t explain it only revel in what was brought to
My attention as the sun sinks below its reason,
“Can you shoot me?” was my plaintive cry out loud,
There are words meant for horizons in unwanted colours.
Can you tell between lazy motives and love itself?
I have explanations in each of my pockets
And none of them made any sense, because my mouth was hidden.
Did I tell you about the warm sunny meadows inside my head
A thousand maybes if I didn’t but it is better isn’t it, instead
When I’m in rapture the lake is there to save me, cool me,
Stepping outside the grasslands and into the desert sands
Not bothered by the heat melting me, but I understand
You are not really there, you are outside of my warmest dreams.
 Don’t give back all the words and songs I have given you please,
What will I do with them now they are used up, worn, old, shabby,
I prefer you as you are in strong womanhood you make me happy.

Well Hidden

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I hide my light under a bushel
For I do not exist
One day I will desist
I am in my tortoise shell
Moving slowly as hell
I refuse to put my head above ground
I move around slowly without a sound,
I did not say anything today
Tomorrow I won’t say much anyway,
There is a rhythm to be hidden from view
I look for it always or for something new
But it is well hidden
No light now and then
Could shine upon this nothing space
It isn’t as if I am in some kind of race
Did I pick this way of being nothing
Or was it because time was chiming?
And the days were getting shorter
The nights doing what they oughta
No surprises could creep in here
The dark makes them disappear
I am well hidden from the world
I tuck my head in it won’t be spoiled,
With the everyday marching ahead
It’s why I don’t want to leave my bed
Stay under the covers all the time
hoping the day goes away from mine
and your ways of looking outwards.
The silence was beyond being awkward
When I emerge and destroy the paper
I am writing on with a poem proper.
I write them but they are well hidden
From the moment they are born
Inside my head and to the well worn
Keyboard or pen, each word from me
Is splashed in the open air calmly.
Did I need to be hidden all these years
Hiding like my father, shedding no tears
As he passed into another realm unknown,
How could I have copied his well renowned
Hiding in a shed at the bottom of the garden
Hiding until his last day arrived and then
No more, he is now well and truly hidden.
In fields of daisies there are delights
That entice me back into the light
I look for the butterfly and the bee
They constantly fly right passed me.
But the caterpillar is well hidden
Waiting for its day before heaven
Where it flies all around hidden places
Going passed the familiar faces.
Is this where the rhythm I seek
Has always been, I am so weak
As to not understand the living way.
I don’t speak much everyday,
The tongue remains quiet and still
I want my life beyond free will
Where the energy is used wisely
Where I’m not saying – Surprise me!
When I’m deep inside my coffin
The mourners won’t see me within
They won’t know if I’m really there
Being well hidden is all I can bear,
I am the reluctant soulful hermit
Who hides almost out of habit.
When I was at school I blended
Into the grey, wishing it was ended
Invisible was my usual dearest wish
I am well hidden, but not a cold fish
In the moments that I do emerge
Meaning floods the floors submerges
All those days I was without me
Washes them into the boiling sea
I’m well hidden not wanting to be
Not knowing how to escape, be free
Of the restraints that are all around me.
I am well hidden
Did I do this for some good reason?
Am I a target now out of season.
This earthly plain is presented
As there is only this, pretended
Living down a deep well hidden

Not Guilty

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Not guilty m’lud after all
She was only a child small
So very young and naive,
Those days she now grieves.

Regular slaps with verbal abuse
Her mother with routine misuse
Would rule her life of pain
she’d get hit again and again.

Throughout her childhood confusion
As she didn’t know what she’d done,
To get the punishment severe
But she felt guilt through the tears.

The child assumed she was at fault
“why else would mother hit me?
I am such a bad girl really”
She thought I must do what I ought.

Now she lives with pain in her heart
Wondering just what actual part
Did she play in deserving a beating,
She was getting the devil’s meeting.

She grew up alongside the violence
As though it was a natural part of life
She matured, held the pain in silence
Her first male attacker was her strife.

He was like a beast he acted even worse
Attacking a woman who is weaker 
Leaving her full of bruises is beyond verse
A brute not a man and a woman-hater.

Occasions of violent submission were hers
Ending a relationship through being raped,
A narcissistic sociopath was her curse
A sub-human who thought himself as great.

Inflicting the worse kind of cruel violence
Sent stabs of guilt pain and grief into her
She has a black hole in her heart once
She parted from the worse kind of raper.




II

The puzzle for me is how could he do so
Much violence to such a kind and caring soul?
She does not have a bad bone in her body
To take advantage this way, scum must he be.

The woman recognises the abuser is not aware
Of the damage he has done, he doesn’t care
He feels he has done nothing wrong, mistake!
This shows he is a psychopath on the make.

He is lucky to escape a possible life sentence
There is no excuse for rape, nor any defence,
It is on a similar level as murder in seriousness,
To carry on contacting his victim is senseless.

He has no regard nor love for his victim
For such a person is incapable of loving
Anyone but himself, my level of loathing
Says killing him would be too good for him.