The Counselling Room

Grey beaten carpet, soft leather chairs,
We all sit wearily eyeing the other,
Two pairs of blue eyes, judging, assessing,
Knowing right where to hit their mark.
I crumple, fold, dissolve,
Steeped ache permanent inside,
Makes no difference at all,
Opinions matter little, flow of words
Softly spoken, flutters violently,
Absorbed into sterile air,
Allow me; I must catch my breath,
While harsh words travel,
Reach ears that should be deaf,
Not that lucky today.

Dissection of life, cut it, part it
Examine and define, sinful state
Of marriage dispersed with seeds
Of that stifling hot summer,
Weeds strangled cherry tree
Where our baby lies beneath.
Hear the knife digging in, twisting,
Reach bleeding ears that should be deaf,
Not that lucky today.

Sentencing, found guilty, with no defence,
Swallowed into solid, decaying ground,
Crush shaking head, held in sorry hands.
Keep a grip, must keep a firm mind,
Weep not, voices, too many pushing.
All the wrongs of disillusioned, disarrayed
Childhood, rest inside these two girls,
Tears form, no control they fall
Upon the bruised, battered floor,
I’ve not been the only sad story
To rock into these walls, wishing to
God it was already tomorrow, and
Yesterday is dim memory, banished
To dreams, or rather nightmares.
Words brittle, telling me, taunting me,
“It’s your fault, can’t you see?”
Reach bleeding ears that should be deaf,
Not that lucky today.

Sacrificed their only childhood
For a slice of imagined freedom,
Having faith, the child in me
Would finally be set free