Yes, she was slapped,
For the second time this week.
Was his anger produced or innate?
They asked in hushed tones.
Seldom a ray of cognizance strikes.
How does it matter, this voice shouts!
They part, none the wiser,
Happy their bubble remained intact.
Whilst at the crime scene,
Only white-hot tears oozed.
The victim conforming to a nameless society,
That echoes the emptiness she feels.
She hurts not of pain that is apparent,
But of shame for people knew.
A little secret no longer,
For it’s shadows extended beyond.
Building anger, fear and insecurity,
That is directed not at the cause.
Never condemning, only justifying.
For it is the way of life.
In the end, violence rears its ugly head,
Laughing at the follies of the mind.
Leave a Reply