I cannot teach you violence, as I do not myself believe in it. I can only teach you not to bow your heads before any one, even at the cost of your life. __Mahatma Gandhi
To the hardened freedom on the crown of winter
where coldness flourishes, they've come again.
Bloody faced women in their nightclothes, humming
such lovely howls as they rock their children to sleep,
listening for footsteps on the porch,
torment... come… stumbling home.
Women brushing their hair as if it were love,
daubing makeup to dilute the venom
they can’t escape.
Tears, useless, even their children’s smiles
carry them to frowning.
Thoughts of shattering themselves down upon the night
of fear, bloody faced women brought to an end,
drained, fingers gliding over the cold barrel.
To the hardened freedom on the crown of winter
where coldness flourishes, they've come again.
Bloody faced women in their nightclothes, humming
such lovely howls as they rock their children to sleep,
listening for footsteps on the porch,
torment... come… stumbling home.
Women brushing their hair as if it were love,
daubing makeup to dilute the venom
they can’t escape.
Tears, useless, even their children’s smiles
carry them to frowning.
Thoughts of shattering themselves down upon the night
of fear, bloody faced women brought to an end,
drained, fingers gliding over the cold barrel.
© 2009 mrp/thepoetryman
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