she is wearing a sad face and she remembers the storm
there were thousands of voices hiding in the corn
the dark was clouded as clouded as his heart
her prayers got lost that night in the aethers of an afterthought

she is remembering all that happened as if it’s someone else’s life
she is clutching the dark clouds and chasing the rainbow out
memories daunting their bitter truths at her
she screams at the fates to break the curse

but she is not to blame, some things are just twisted games
life is a river and it becomes a waterfall sometimes
before it reaches the ocean’s wall
and only the ardent listener hear wisdom’s muted call

outside the ravens and crows start to speak
she snaps up her head and gets on her feet
the opened door draws near a silhouette
she will draw her knife and make him forget

the abuse has made her feral, a monster is born
the man slowly enters smelling of fists and rage
she jumps towards him and sinks the blade
from the innocent victim, a murderer is made

every abuse has a first time, my friend
speak out or become like her in the bitter end
is a murder committed with a knife the only answer
to make us murderers and children of disaster

speak out while you have the chance
someone will listen to your circumstance
do not wait for a blade to speak in your name
taking a life might open doors you need not go through
violence gives born to violence if the tongue does not speak
remember, you have a voice, you have strength even if you are weak
so speak

(c) 2016 Allen Simpson