Thursday, 11 September 2014

Reflections on a marriage

Tomorrow, Friday 12th September,
 I shall have been a widow for two years. 

Certainly not two of the easiest years of my life,
as regular readers of this blog will have come to know,
 but certainly infinitely better than the thirty which went before.
This poem may perhaps shock some of you,
it may indeed offend your sensibilities,
for which I apologise,
but I need to get this off my chest somehow
as it's baggage I don't want to carry any longer.
I'm at yet another of life's crossroads -
still a few loose ends to take care of in France
and a new chapter to start writing in England.
It's time to move on again,
put down new roots, but I'm .....
- demons sometimes take a while to exorcise.
He is not dead 'cos in my head
I still can feel his touch.
That clammy hand, the wedding band,
He took ... he took so much.
Those eyes ice cold to match his heart
His over wheening pride.
The firm belief that he was free
To take me in his stride.
His whiskey breath, his baccy nails.
His silly, girlish laugh.
I hear it still when in my dreams
I strangle with his scarf.
How did I bear those stabs of pain
When bitten as he passed.
How oft I hid the marks he left
My skin all bruised and scarred.
He's gone, he's gone - two years have passed
But how he haunts me still.
How long to suffer from his blight?
Perhaps I always will.
Without the love and support of my family
I truly don't know how I would have got through all this.
Thank you.

No comments:

Post a Comment