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Clare Martin Clare Martin
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soul mates

A short poem about domestic abuse.

She longed for love and prayed for peace.
He drank up rage and shot up crime.
She never spoke, only let tears fall,
In silent streams that dripped in time.

He wanted her more than anyone,
She was his love and so his life.
But he couldn't control his bitter intake
And so his rage was aimed at his wife.

She witnessed him at his very worst,
Tried to calm him in the death of night.
He didn't listen, he could never listen,
But, in the mind, he wasn't quite right.

He grabbed her throat and banged her head
Hard against the white-washed wall.
She screamed and sobbed and pushed him back
But never would he heed her call.

"When I'm not drunk, I'll apologize,"
He calmly said in his drugged mind.
He dumped her, writhing, on the floor
Which was littered with glass and oily grime.

He woke up with a pain in the head
And proceeded to check the mail,
But at the box, instead of bills,
Was his wife lying still, weak and pale.

He gasped and cried and checked her pulse
But no soft thud throbbed in her wrist.
He saw the box containing his drink
And cursed himself and drugs for this.

"I'm so very sorry," he whispered to her,
Remembering his promise earlier that night.
If domestic violence isn't heard,
Then never will anyone put it right.

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