Sitting
Cradled by my two brothers
We huddle in a corner
Safely hidden behind the couch
The one we once adored tuned into Satan that night
That windy winter night
Drinking beer by the haunting glow,
That evening baseball game
Our mother lies weeping on the floor
Confusion rattles through her veins,
But it’s not the first time
There’s been many long nights.
She stays there imagining
She dashes for the door
The three of us held tight in her arms,
Searching for security.
But the pain is too extensive
Barely raising her head
We catch a glimpse
Of the beaten face which paints a picture
An innocent child
Longing for God to spare her soul
She can hide the pain no longer
The bruises once undisclosed
Show deeper and darker then ever before
A gapping wound
Freshly exposed to the world
Blood trickles off her cheek
But there is nothing we can do
But look on, look on to
The wave of destruction he has caused
While
He shows no remorse in his eyes
All we can see
Is the fallen angel
We once called dad
