Hands of hate belonging
to a mother that cut into the soul
like a swordsman’s steel.
The human statue ever so small always
stiff and frozen, the face burning
with passionate dislike causing
trembling and terror.
There was no sorrow worn upon that face,
only scorn and sullenness brought on by
a lifetime of bearing an unwanted child.
Heart of stone, no tears would ever fall
from those eyes that could bring harm by
only a glance.
To the world that did not understand, a
world that did not feel the threat or
face the harm saw only pride and grace.
A quietness on the outside, a certain
charm; the soul carried arrows and sling
that could pierce and bruise.
Those hands of hate tore apart a child’s
heart and it would forever lay slit open
and bent was this the invisible hands of