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Reality is harsh; Survival is in faith.
The Fork In The Road
by Catherin Elizabet Belle
| Category: || General Poetry |
Posted:|| May 8, 2010 Views: 646|
The Fork in the Road
It was a hot sultry summer day
With not a breath of air moving across
The prairie, nor a rustle of a leaf or a ripple
In the tow sack curtain hanging
On the tiny window.
He was a trusted kin, but his syrupy
Sweet voice spoke vile words,
Forcing the child to willingly submit
To his basic instincts; demanding sexual
Gratification from her young body.
As his hands touch forbidden places,
Silent screams rip through her heart;
While an ebony cloud of dark despair
Chokes her soul, strangling hope
And leaving an empty shell.
Yet, the tiny child defies death
At the hands of this evil human being;
Finding in prayer a strength of iron
Steeling her body from any sensual
Response to his violations.
Concentrating on her defense,
She drifts high above the atrocity;
Detached, unfeeling, as the mummified
Body endures the rhythmic pounding
Below her ethereal world.
She demands, she prays, she begs
For strength to steel her body against
His experienced ministrations; her emotions
Shutting down, as he violates the body....
She prays her soul to live.
Violation of her tiny body
Could not destroy the inner beauty;
Glowing with the love of the Holy Spirit,
As she lay on the cold dark ground, now
Soaked by her silent tears.
Slowly her tortured mind comes
To rest in the black cavity of the violated
Corpse; the fog of despair wrapped
Like a cocoon around the frail
Child of God.
In seeking death, a glowing
White light guides her vision to the wooden
Cross carried on the scarred back of
Jesus, and the heaviness of his load
Lightens her burden.
As the tiny heart swells with love
She knows she can endure the worldly
Demons viciously robbing her childish
Innocence; she will carry her cross,
As Jesus did, with faith.
Thus she rises from the tear
Soaked soil, slips back into Satan's den;
And prays for the strength of faith to sustain
Her in the trials yet to come. As her
Eyes close in slumber,
Her tortured mind feels the touch
Of gentle angel wings humming a song
Of hope as the glow of halos warm the chilled
Battered body of a soul now held
Lovingly in God's hands.
In learning to control her mind
A survival technique she mastered well,
She denied emotional response to any stimuli
Numbly performing any task heaped
Upon her small body.
When the tortured lass froze
The animal instinct of sexual desire,
She was so young; innocently
Searching a way to survive the onslaught
Of the dammed.
As the years dragged by
The maiden finds love and affection;
And dreams of the gentleness of fulfillment
Enjoyed by husband and wife in the act
But alas, the woman found
Heartbreak as the emotions she froze
To survive the onslaught of a vile being,
Now remain locked in the steel
Grip of iron.
The frozen primal emotions,
The only hope of survival for the young
Lass, now haunt the anguish of
Loneliness heaped in agonizing pain
Of unfulfilled desired.
As her emotions remain
Sealed in the vise grip of steel, love can
Not unleash the basic response
To the natural act of human love, slain
At the fork in the road.
This poem is dedicated to all victims of sexual violence.
EYESONLY, Thank you for the use of this exquisite picture, it is the perfect complimen.
and 2 member cents.
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