For All the Children

The clenched fist,

A snapped the belt on the stairs, is followed by

“Where are you?”

“Come here now” calls of yesteryear,

Haunting long distant memories.

The terror has turned to sadness,

For parents unable to cope,

Drinking anger and the excess fuel of addition,

In equal quantities,

Until the escape is made, or a deed is done.

Now, years later,

I unclench my fist,

Releasing the turmoil of bruises,

Hidden from others,

In my own gut of hate.

The stinking heap of misunderstood acts,

Falls away, not like it never happened,

But replaced with real love,

And the wisdom of knowing,

I AM not built this way.

And God had never left my side.

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