Home > Creative Writing > Poetry
Created on: September 21, 2009 Last Updated: September 23, 2009
Childhood's shame of sex abuse
Is the scar of later years.
Remembered prayers that served no use,
That halted not the tears.
At first it was a promise
Of the love that kids desire,
Bound with silken, tight-weaved lies
From a man that you admire.
No one asked the questions.
No one showed they cared
About this "friend's" deceptions,
Or in silence, what he shared.
Threats were made of what you'd cause
By talking out of turn.
Of jail that follows broken laws
If anyone should learn.
Then is when the truth you find,
This thing is sick and wrong.
No one makes it stop; all are blind,
And children aren't that strong.
To late learned, it's all right to tell,
The damage had been done.
Only God heard the silent yell
That never saw the sun.
No adult was there to heed;
To bend and lend an ear.
Little ones, with tears or need,
Only interfere.
More days pass in hidden shame
In a house that's now a hell.
When he comes in and calls your name
You can't hide; your room's a cell.
As time goes on, in your mind
A giant you create;
To lean upon and hide behind
And focus all your hate.
A gentle protector to take the place
Of those who won't appear.
Who would stay around and help you face
The hopelessness and fear.
When at last you grow and break away,
A tainted life's the cost.
Trust is gone, bad memories stay,
Innocence was lost.
It takes years for the pain to halt,
For time to dull it's glow.
Years to learn it's not your fault,
Learning things a child can't know.
Childhood's lessens aren't forgot.
As an adult, again you'll pay.
Fighting off the feelings taught,
When real love comes your way.
A loving touch can feel like dirt;
A kiss, like remembered sin.
A warm embrace brings back the hurt
And loathing for all men.
Learn more about this author, Mike Patrick.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.
Below are the top articles rated and ranked by Helium members on:
Poetry: Scars
I want to kiss the scars on Jesus' feet,
Those scars show us the most blessed event in all of human history,
They are
I see the cuts
that I once made,
on the arm where
the razor once laid.
I see the pain
that once ached,
in the heart with
love once
There are marks upon my skin,
Pale reminders of days gone by.
The bleeding was staunched long ago,
But to claim they no longer
The scars I bear and the pain I feel
Are a constant reminder of the price I paid
The price I paid for loving you
I always
by Jamae Smith
For Mama
I'm sorry for the things I might have done
For all of the awards I haven't won
I'm sorry for the chances I let by
I'm
View All Articles on: Poetry: Scars