24th February 2009

A fist lashes out then blood will run,

You ask yourself- 'What have I done?',

Then you recall as many times before, 

People were told ' She walked into a door,'

Feeling the pain and that terrible fear

You shed many silent tears.

A cover will hide a battered face, 

They would never know the beatings you take. 

You try to do and say things right,

But regardless he spoils for a fight.

You are a punchbag; a football too,

This is the life you always knew.

It is called ABUSE, but it is hidden away, 

Behind closed doors it cannot stay.

Not only adults but children suffer great pain, 

Perverted, sadistic animals will do it again.

So many have died in pain and despair, 

Because nobody will show they care.

A scream and a call for help - such a plea, 

Is ignored by those who are free.

Where decent people live and children play, 

The ABUSER slides in with his victim to stay.

They never see his wife, so the reason is 'She's ill,'

But one day a hearse calls at his door, all is still.

 

Written by Betty Burns

© Jacki Pritchard, Beyond Existing, Support Groups for Adults Who Have Been Abused      www.beyondexisting.org.uk