Who took the pictures of my memories
Who stood behind me in my fear
I can still hear all my laughter
From long ago, so far from here
I never thought he was a monster
But never saw him as a saint
I can't think of the good times anymore
It only reminds me of her pain
Everyone tells her it wasn't so bad
That he's the victim, and she's the priest
But silence sends you straight to Hell
Her cries for help will bring us grace
They all say that she's the problem
Why does she matter, she's going nowhere
I have to wonder how they forgave him
For all that he did, they were never a victim
She will always have my shoulder to lean on
She's always in my hopes and prayers
There's a warm shell around the darkness
They'll never see it, but it's still there
I'll do whatever for her that I can
Even if her pain is something I can't understand
But I'll be honest, since that day
Not a single word feels right to say
© Copyright 2018 Lostlapis. All rights reserved.
Comments
Each of us has to live with our own pain. All we can do to help another is not add to it..As for words...a poet must express his/her own feelings...no one's pain should stop the words...
I like the poem. Sorry if I misinterpret.
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