I began to cry as rain poured over my face,
Hiding my misery to anyone else on that lonely street.
As I ran, I could not help but remember those cold heartless words.
I remembered how He screamed at me and called me things,
Horrible things, terrible words that I would not soon forgive.
His voice was loud in my ears, His words fierce and piercing.
They stabbed at my heart relentlessly, without pitying me.
Those horrible, hateful words were killing me;
I could not save myself from their torture.
So I ran as fast as I could, far as I could
away from Him and His hate toward me.
My only hope was that He would not take his hate of me out on my mother.
My poor mother, I thought, alone with Him, without anyone to keep her safe.
I would never forgive myself he hurt her.
For hours I ran without stopping, without slowing.
No longer could I bear not knowing what was happening.
I went back to my home, thinking of my mother, hoping all was well.
Upon entering my house, I saw the once neat and tidy rooms in shambles.
Broken china scattered the floor, furniture had been flipped and broken apart.
Apparently, He had left the house, for everything was quiet.
I searched for my mother;
Perhaps she was trying to clean up the wreckage, fix the broken,
Whatever she could do to hide what had happened.
But then I saw her, lying in a pile of broken glass,
Among the broken furniture and pots and pans that had been torn out of their cabinets.
There she lay with a large pan in one hand, and knife in the other,
With another knife protruding from her chest.
Her eyes were frozen open in horror, her mouth was agape.
Her face had always been pale, but when I saw her now,
It looked much paler than it usually did.
I checked for her steadily beating heart
I always used to listen it as a young child when He got like this.
That comfort was not granted to me this time.
Her heart beat for no one any longer.
He killed her and it was my fault.
He killed her and I wasn't there to stop Him
He killed her and He was on the run, getting away with it,
And it was all my fault.
They were both gone and I was alone,
He was gone and He was not coming back to take the blame for my mother's death.
I could never have asked him to anyway.
When they came and asked me what happened,
I told them I killed her.
It was completely true.
Poetry » Life Rated: K+, English, Angst & Tragedy, Words: 453, Published: 7/30/2007