Broken Wings

A poem
by Chris Hibbard

Broken Wings

woman-aid-1

She was knocking on my door
Waking, grabbing clothes from the floor
Glancing at the clock, reads half past four

As the door crept open
The bruise on her face made everything clear
He had stayed with the boys for that one extra beer
Now she stood
Silent
Here

Her eyes reflected again a broken heart
She wanted me to mend
Again I held her close
The comfort of a friend
She wondered aloud
About her own sins

Morning came quickly
Her eye glowed black
Both knowing full well that it was likely a trap
Still she left
Still she went back

Why can’t she go back to bed and stay
This game hurts more every time we play
Why does it have to be this way

She was knocking on my door again
This time the clock reads quarter to ten
His poker game’s rigged, he never seems to win
Excusing a beast that hides within

He doesn’t have to hear the sad sighs
She murmurs in her sleep
He’s too blinded to realize
That in the bathroom alone
When he’s done she weeps

Heart breaking every time I see this sight
Another cracked lip on one more night
How can she deny that this isn’t right

I hold her close
Comforting her in my arms
Knowing full well she’ll go back to a trap
First the romance
Then the harm
Powerless to resist his charms

I knew she would return
Some things you can’t unlearn
Like the night brings cold
In which rage and sadness burn

A hunger and yearning that go unfed
The blind must be so gently led
He hit her again and again she bled

I knew it was a crime
But let her leave one more time
Suppressing stinging tears
Silent and stoic
Could not have been more blind

Now the prize has been lost
And there are no more knocks
She could have been fine
She could have been mine
She found final peace
I ignored the signs

Advertisements

~ by Chris Hibbard on November 4, 2008.

4 Responses to “Broken Wings”

  1. A beautiful, rythmical, true poem.

  2. Whoa, man. That’s heavy. I’m writing a lyrical novel on abuse – this is great inspiration. Check out my blog and give me some tips. It’s called cannellymiell. I don’t know if you wrote this yourself, but I think you get this kind of stuff.

  3. contemporary, ageless, important.

  4. Indeed, once upon time…….my breathe has found peace and safety 🙂

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

 
%d bloggers like this: