Bathed in an ethereal light
this child has no skin in the game
yet her trust holds demands
she cannot bear.
The creak of her bedroom door
snatches the sleep from her eyes
and in the darkness, horror descends;
her pillow, once soft and warm,
betrays her and once under, now over
muffles her surprise.
Beneath his weight, she dissipates
her cries muffled in the night.
Her fright smothers – she gasps for air
and he’s still there, grinding her
fragile hips into dust.
God looks on, and in His fashion
does nothing to intervene;
a celestial voyeur.
Stuffed animals bolt to the floor
one after the other, and with them
descends lost innocence; her
face laced in spittle, and she’s so little.
He rolls over, spent and condemned
as blackness descends to fill her.
Nothing is as it seems, but not a dream.
Tears wash away the vision of
this violation.
He rises as she plummets;
this child painted with the smell of
cigarettes and cheap liquor.
Morning filters through frosted panes
but she finds no warmth in the rising sun.
They’ll be no accounting for this sin
and no childhood left within this shattered
shell of a child. A darkness, deeper than sleep,
envelopes her lost innocence, and the
night’s breeze carries the cry of angels.
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The Winter Bites My Bones 
wow. i do not know what to say – so powerful.
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There is nothing really to say. Thanks for stopping by my blog and reading my work. Dennis
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“God looks on, and in His fashion
does nothing to intervene;
a celestial voyeur.”
This was a sucker punch to the gut.
The poem was quite memorable without it, but adding those three short lines made the betrayal of an innocent child by everyone who could have helped her even more evident.
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Thanks for visiting my blog. You were the first responding reader who truly understood what I was trying to say.
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You’re welcome. 🙂
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almost in tears, its so sickening to know there are children out there being abused 😦 really powerful poem
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We know all to well, her fears and the story. When the hall light comes on, you know you’re in trouble only so well at the touch. From then on it turns into a dream….
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Why is the power of sin stronger than the sincerity of innocence? This poem captures this contrast that exists between these two forces.
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