Waiting

There was a little girl with a little golden head,
She loved to play outside, and hated going to bed.

She’d often leave her shoes, and run about quite free,
She’d perch herself up high, and survey all she could see.

She’d snuggle up to her mama, and listen to her speak,
Of days now quite gone by, and how it used to be.

She’d run off to the store, and buy herself a treat,
A chilled glass of coke, or a prettily wrapped sweet.

She’d come home as sleep found her, and forced her to return,
She’d climb the creaky staircase, another hard lesson learned.

Each day brought new insight, to a world that wasn’t hers,
And sometimes she knew what love was, but sometimes she wasn’t sure.

She’d sit with her face to the window, breath fogging up the glass.
She’d wait to see his black hat, and wait to endure his wrath.

She’d still skip to the door quite merry, happy to see her dad.
But he’d still her with one piercing look that told her “You’ve been bad.”

She’d hide and run and scream for help, but no one ever came.
She’d cower in the corner, while her father screamed her shame.

He’d lash her without mercy, the bite of his belt hitting home.
She’d shiver under blankets, knowing that she’s all alone.

For who could drive the pain away? Who could comfort now?
When no one could ever understand, could ever fathom how.

She’d tuck her head up tight, rolled into a ball.
She wouldn’t come out of her place, until her father called.

She wouldn’t look at him at dinner, but would stare down at her plate.
Her father’s seething darkness, would consume her with his hate.

She snapped at him quite meanly, intending to inflict pain.
But soon the blows began, and soon her tears did rain.

His fist sent her backwards, her chair above her head.
With all disorienting views, she was certain she was dead.

She tried to hide beneath the chair, hoping he was done.
But as he approached her, she decided instead to run.

There was a teenage girl, who didn’t have any shoes.
Her father had forgotten her, of him she’d had no news.

She clung to her mother desperately, wanting solace in her embrace.
But she wouldn’t look at her daughter, because she wouldn’t see his face.

So on they trudged quite homeless, to wait for better times.
And on the clock ticked for her, and on the bells did chime.

There was a young woman, with a brightened heart.
She hugged her dreams to herself, for a new life she would start.

She waited by the window, to see her husband arrive,
She would be the perfect wife, to this she’d surely strive.

He walked into the house angry, she asked him what was wrong.
He said he’d tired of her tuneless voice, and was exhausted of her empty song.

He crushed her spirit with those words, and bruised what hope remained.
He hit her over and over again, making everything the same.

It all blurred into one event, one single sightless man.
One goal in life to snuff the flame, and bruise the tender hand.

Her wedding ring glinted now, sending a shock down her spine,
But over and over he slapped her round, no words can quite define.

Her own little girl with a golden head, clung to her mommy’s hand.
She wept and held her tighter still, hardening with a new plan.

Her sweater ripped, and her face quite bruised, she shrugged it off instead,
“Come sweet one, upstairs we go, it’s time to get in bed.”

Nothing had passed and nothing had changed, time resumes to tick.
As the months counted down and healing ensued, the woman got very sick.

She knew then she was pregnant, and would have to soldier on.
She would not expose the child to pain, simply be a loving mom.

There was a loving mother, who doted upon her son from the start.
And every day would wake anew, with his image in her heart.

She would sit by the window, her face pressed to the glass.
She’d watch the sun stretch it’s arm across the lazy grass.

She’d wait for her son to come, she lavished him with praise.
She’d think of him and pray for him many times throughout the day.

She’d softly touch a photo of him, tear-stained and much beloved,
She wanted nothing more from him than the nestle of his hug.

She longed to feel safe at last, with a man who knew her heart.
With a man who’d simply hold her still and from her never part.

She’d raised him as he ought to be, and taught him what was true.
She’d scooped him up through pain and joy, because that’s what mothers do.

He’d dandled on her knee of times, and run to her in fear,
She’d cradle his downy tender head, and capture all his tears.

When terrors came to haunt at night, she’d whisper in his ear,
He knew that when her smile was close, evil was never near.

The shadows would abate at dawn, and he’d open his sleepy eyes,
He’d wonder at the foolishness of night, and roll over in surprise.

He grew up strong and steady, with a heart to smite the night,
He stood for what was true and good, knowing what was right.

He watched his sister make mistakes, her golden head up high,
He watched the head lower down, crashing from her soaring sky.

He knew what it was to fail in life, he knew what it was to win,
He knew what it was to choose the light, he knew what it was to sin.

His mother watched him tenderly, her handsomest little boy,
But no matter how she treated him, her ministrations served to annoy.

Her heart would break each time he cut her a look that bespoke of death,
Her soul would shrivel a little more when he’d expunge his hating breath.

She carried words upon her heart, words that did damage now untold,
She carried them as a heavy burden, making her spirit grow old.

And as each day carried on, as each night ensued to black,
She harbored all her secret fears and still she cut him slack.

One day the boy went off to start a life he called ‘his own’,
Eschewing all he’d been taught to love, eager to slough off home.

His look behind him was not wistful, there was no longing in his glance,
The woman wondered how this could be, this surely was not chance.

She looked about her in dawning horror, knowing this was it.
She’d gathered all the puzzle pieces, yet somehow they did not fit.

Her little girl wrapped her arms around her, holding her very near,
Yet something still had broken inside her, something very dear.

No words could bring her comfort, no whispers dispel the hurt,
His answers to her were stifled, they were dismissing and curt.

But still the woman waited for him, by the window she once more sat,
Wondering and patiently waiting, for where could her son be at?

Surely he would return to her, the only man that could,
The only man that mattered to her, and the only man that should.

Her hair turned from gold to white, and still she quietly waited.
Her pain still laced with love, nothing inside her hated.

She knew that he would come to himself, in this life or the next,
And so until that moment came, she would continue to wait and expect.

And so she sat with her hands in her lap, her daughter clasped her hand,
And at long last she breathed a sigh, ready to give up her plan.

She turned from the window, with a withering step, touching her daughter’s cheek,
A silent tear rolled down her face, but still she could not speak.

She lay down one final time, to take her well deserved rest,
She could say with infinite peace that she had done her best.

And now she waits for one last man, the man that never left,
For she has persevered through life, and she has passed the test.

There is one man who has never failed, and has always held her near,
There is one man who kissed her gently, and cast out all her fears.

Her Father waits to take her hand, softly now and sure.
For her heart is ever good, and ever completely pure.

She is not a woman now, but a Daughter that her Father must save,
And when her son comes to himself, he’ll find a silent grave.

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