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
18 thoughts on “Hands of Hate…”
Horrible when stripping away the outer layers an exposing feeling to the world, but I fought for her love for so many years and although I sometimes chastise myself for opening up in verse about her lack of love and mothering; she did love two other children so she was capable. This knowing allows me to convey my feelings in verse. Thank you so much for stopping by and reading this piece. Ann
This was painful to read.
Thank you for reading it, it seems that most of my poetry has developed into a process of stripping the soul while writing it. It would seem that I have found my voice even I it is a sad one. Ann
We can’t, or shouldn’t, ignore our sad voices I would think. Your process has a wonderful outcome.
Yes, truth buried can be a powerful when brought to the surface. Thank you for such a wonderful comment. Ann
You’re welcome Ann. I agree about that power, and empowerment is amazing.
Thank you so very much for the comment, please feel free to comment and/or critique my work, I welcome it. Ann
Wow, very powerful. The hate is stiff and rigid in feeling…
Thank you Christy for stopping by, and for the comment, I welcome your input as you know. Ann
Have been reading some of your posts and I found some of them heartbreaking! But then you had the strength to write about these things and I think writing is therapeutic. You were deprived of the most basic of needs as a child: the love of a mother, but you had your father’s and aunt’s and possibly other people’s love. I think that the universe endeavours to compensate such absences, and seeing how it does this is fascinating and rewarding – especially when such patterns start to be identified. Hope this message finds you well. All the best, A
Thank you Alexandra…it has taken me 10 years to finally find my “voice” as a poet and writer. With a lifetime of experiences, thoughts and yes heartaches I am becoming satisfied with my “type” of writing. My poetry is what I term free verse and confessional poetry. I have found on this journey that there is nothing wrong with conveying feelings and thoughts with truth in verse. Some therapeutic yes…but with more years behind me than ahead…it is my story. Again thank you for following, reading and commenting, I welcome critique of any of my work. Ann
Sometimes I fill so sad reading your intimate and personal way to show us your soul, Ann. Ti voglio bene.
It took me a very long time to reach the place where I felt I could be true to my own voice. It is my hope that others see themselves in my words and know that they are not alone in many of the same thoughts. Ann
Reblogged this on OUR POETRY CORNER.
Always my appreciation. Ann
again thank YOU!
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