21 Years

21 years of fear and dread, not knowing whether it's safe to sleep in your own bed,
The fear of him coming home and wrecking the house,
Who will end up in hospital this time, how long will it carry on.

For as long as I remember, he spoke only with his fists,
And he really didn't care who he went to hit,
child, adult, they were all the same to him, they were all his punch bags.

Many a time, while mum laid battered, bruised and crying,
I wished that I could do something to help,
I just wanted to make her pain go away, forever.

In my mind, it seemed so easy, poison, knife, car accident,
So many ways to choose, but which one would it be?
In reality, the beatings would carry on for 21 long years.

I prayed every night that the traffic would be bad,
And that the next fatality would be him,
But no, he was home on time every night, again and again and again.

He took his own life, quite tragically, but now it means that we are free,
No beatings, no hidings, no more fear or dread,
No more wondering if it's safe to sleep in your own bed.