April 19th — A Poem A Day

Battered Rose

We married in June
surrounded by roses and
joy everlasting.

October arrived crimson
called forth by your flying fist.

As leaves fell from trees,
and the cool night air grew chill,
my pride withered, too.

Apologies and remorse
bathed me after each bruising.

January found
me huddled against sudden
violent flurries.

You hated to hit me, but
I could not keep you happy.

Now tender green grass
grows upon my cold, dark grave.
Finally I am free.

In court you beg for mercy
That you did not have for me.


Poetic Asides, Day 18
Prompt: write a poem about anger or something angry

Before you ask — no, I was never a victim of spousal battery.  That doesn’t mean it hasn’t touched my life.   I wrote this poem to give voice to those no longer able to speak for themselves.