Backwards and forwards she rocks on her knees,
Her head in her hands, her womb bleeds.
Helpless to stop it, she rocks, she screams,
Her mind haunted, hallucinations, dreams.
Figures, sounds, an angry waterfall,
A distant cry in an angry storm.
The lightening cuts out her name in the sky,
The strengthening sound of a lullaby,
She screams, she rocks, she cries, she bleeds,
She shouts, she sobs, she rocks, she pleads,
The waterfall roars, the wind, destruction,
Her crashing world falls, fails to function.
The water runs dry, she wakes,
Not a scream, or cry, or ache,
But peaceful in bed as the sun wakes the dawn,
How long will this nightmare continue on?
Her womb does not bleed, in its absence she’s bare,
No bloodshed of that, of which is not there.
A girl of five, her womanhood taken,
Now many years on, her mind mistaken.
No loss of blood, or life another,
She never was, or will be a mother.
Her mind mistaken, or truth in its storm?
A girl of five, a child unborn,
Dreams, hallucinations, anger, pain,
A moment, for lifetime her mind will retain.
The secrets of figures, never faded,
The innocence of a child, stolen, invaded.
No longer a child, she cannot let go,
Not only her womanhood, they stole so much more.
Not all of the figures, the darkest of all,
Hiding behind the waterfall,
Never to show his face to her,
He leaves her the nightmare, the screams, the scar.
lindsey ashton
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/stolen-12/
