The family stood up;
To break free;
Free of the chains of bondage;
Free from the cuffs that squeeze them;
The children hide in fear;
Hidden away in darkness;
To feel light will shine at the end of the tunnel;
To feel this word called hope;
Why were they born?
Will, we ever grow up to survive they muttered;
Will their life be different?
Their spirits weakened into time and space;
The days and months seemed to freeze;
Their voices drowned by the noises of violence;
Hoping to be heard, hoping to be seen;
But to no avail;
They grew up into monsters exuding hatred;
Lurking for a prey;
Parents scarred by torture;
Some died not knowing when and how;
Their children suffer emotional wounds;
The unseen trauma is seen too soon;
Won’t you share your story ;
To save a crying soul!
Comments
Not knowing...
the inner workings of Trinadad and Tobago, I went to Google and read about the beginnings of your country. I believe that your piece depicts the beginnings of the slave and prisoner trade. I don't see anything that I can change without, upsetting the flow and demeanor of it. ~ Geezer.
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Geezer thank you for the
Geezer thank you for the comment. Actually, this piece was meant to explain the cycle of abuse and the children eventually becoming the perpetrator themselves perpetuating the cycle. It was not meant for slave and prisoner trade, but I understand what you meant.
I do see...
what you mean. Yes, I see it in my generation especially, a lot of men are becoming woke though and now the instances are fewer amongst my peers. ~ Geezer.
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dear WP,
I do not see anywhere to improve this piece. you have done well.
*hugs, Cat
Candlewitch thank you for
Candlewitch thank you for taking the time to read this piece and for sharing your perspective.