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Updated on May 27, 2011

A sad and pathetic case
A so called man, putting his fist into a woman's face
There's a place for these creeps
It lies beneath the surface...9ft deep.
The place where their bodies decompose
A place where no one knows.....

The following is a poem about a woman who dared,
To live beyond the abuse and being scared.
Her days and nights were filled with grief
Her children were too afraid to speak.

The neighbors would hear their cries
Too scared to call the police for fear they would die.
Some of the women gathered and told her to leave,
They would help her escape, if that is what she needs.

When the next attack on her life occured
No one showed because they did not have the nerve.
This was the time he broke her nose
All she could hear was their doors close.

What about the time he broke her arm
It was not reported because of his charm.
He showed no compassion when he douched her out with rubbing alcohol,
It was so painful, she could not even crawl.
She sat in the house and bled for seven days,
No attempts to check on her were made.

The following day he loaded her and the family into the car
Took them somewhere, he could become more bizzarre.
He lined her up along with the kids,
At gunpoint, he made her son dig.

The boy sobbed as he dug the grave for his mother
While she cried and shuddered.
They ran screaming where no one could hear,
Out in the woods with the deer.

She made it to where she tought she was safe
Tired, bleeding and scared, she made it to the gate.
She told the children to hide until she made it back,
Out of nowhere came another vicious attack.

He wore himself out and told them to get in
Back to the car where they had been.
He screamed: "Tonight is the night, all of you, will die",
From her busted eardrums she could hear her children cry.

The beatings continued until she could not take anymore,
When the police arrived, his brains was on the floor.
She stood there with an axe in her hands,
Screaming Dear God, I killed my man.


Copyright 2011. All rights reserved to Paedams.


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