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Wednesday, 21 December 2011

The Dark Side of Life

                                       The Dark Side of Life
          
                                                         
                                                                               

                       
                        Many of us poets on this board have our dark side of
                        life and I am included in the dark side.

                        Depression is physically and mentally debilitating, but
                        add to this mental and physical abuse at a young age,
                        with not a soul to turn to, then my friends you have a
                        problem.

                        As a child and one of eight
                        I knew the meaning
                        A parents hate

                        For some unknown reason
                        I did not fit
                        Odd-Bod, the family freak
                        Pee the bed, the whipping boy
                        The ugly figure head

                        Nothing but hate
                        In my first years on Earth
                        From a mother
                        Who wished I had died at birth

                        In those long tormented years
                        I cried a vast ocean
                        And a river of tears
                        My screams of pain
                        And pleads to stop
                        But the beatings
                        On bare flesh
                        Was a pleasure she got

                        A sadistic woman, with pure
                        Hate in her eyes
                        Burned me with pokers
                        Nearly beat me to death

                        Shut me in a coal cellar
                        At the height of the war
                        Hoping the Germans
                        Would blow me to bits
                        Some kind hearted neighbours
                        Rescued me from it

                        The beatings went on
                        In the dark youthful days
                        By a woman called mother
                        Who called me a freak
                        Depression malnutrition
                        Unloved and quite weak

                        She despised her young son
                        For reasons unknown


                        But sadly I find
                        A black sheep
                        In lots of our homes

                        Peter Wicks
                        Time is the best healer and man it takes time







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