Survivors Poetry

A Child That Plays

When we were but young
The world was a wide eyed place.
We would wonder at the nature,
And stare in awe at space.

It was a place of adventure,
Of excitement, things to do.
Each discovery a wonder.
The hours in the day too few.

But then something altered.
We no longer felt so free.
We learned a new word, fear.
No longer a world safe to be.

Those times are now behind us.
Although the memories remain,
Of a world so crudely altered,
And never was the same.

And only now can I allow
Back in my life the fun.
The joy of new discoveries,
The warmth of the sun.

And in my mind I am young,
A child in many ways.
So although it can be difficult,
I'm going to be a child that plays.

Just how Much

Beaten, cowering, stripped of everything she had,
A child of 2 or 3 made to feel that she was bad.
Used, abused, treated nothing better than the trash.
Just how much of the child could the adults smash?

Mocked, insulted, told she isn't worth a care.
A child not good enough, they wished she wasn't there.
Used, abused, treated nothing better than the dross.
Just how much of the child could the adult loss?

Hurting, fearing, her life just not worth living.
A teenager ,cowering, her body for the giving.
Used, abused, treated nothing better than the dirt.
Just how much of the teenager could the adults hurt?

Battered, cowering, just struggling to survive.
An adult so tired and weary, hanging on to be alive.
Used, abused, treated nothing better than second class.
Just how much of the survivor can the adults smash?

Poems by Sheila