Aug 2014
It was a grey dawn that held an ominous weight about it
all the curtains were drawn shut and yet somehow he knew
the wind-driven rains that had howled in the dark night
and the long-buried secret that would surely now be on view.
The man who’d abused him all of those long years ago
had disappeared like a ghost in the middle of the night
and now there would be those who would find out at last
why he’d suddenly vanished from everyone’s sight.
He’d flayed him so often he now hunched his back
where his skin had knotted and mended like string
but the worst of his fears – the drunken attacks
humiliating tears and the terror it would bring.
He stood it for so long, it should never have been
this pain from a guardian, so vile and obscene
till one day a knife found its way into his hand
at the time of the stabbing he was only fourteen.
Being out on a farm and there being just them two
he was terrified he’d be taken far away
so he buried the guardian as deep as he could
and hoped underground was where he would stay.
He tended the farm and made it quite a success
and carried on as best as he could
he finished education and returned to the farm
where he waited almost hoping for last night’s flood.
The terrible secret that he’d kept all these years
made him avoid making friends so he’d no kind of life
he watched television and he read many books
and discounted all thoughts of a girl or a wife.
How he’d survived the twenty years since he just didn’t know
he was lonely and so terribly sad
and though he knew what he’d done was all that he could
he was painfully aware that it was wicked and bad.
And so in a way the storm held mixed blessings
he could finally admit to all what he’d done
he knew that his life would never be the same
but in his thirty-fours there was not a thing he had won.
With reluctance and a heavy heart he drew curtains back
rain water and mud flooded his land six feet deep
and though sheds had fallen and hedgerows lay bent
the ground yielded nothing and his secret it would keep.
Slowly he now realised that he’d wanted this release
but he’d not be believed if he called anyone
he couldn’t bear the thought of more years of disgrace
so finally, desperately, he loaded his gun………..
©Joe Wilson – …the worst of his fears…2014
all the curtains were drawn shut and yet somehow he knew
the wind-driven rains that had howled in the dark night
and the long-buried secret that would surely now be on view.
The man who’d abused him all of those long years ago
had disappeared like a ghost in the middle of the night
and now there would be those who would find out at last
why he’d suddenly vanished from everyone’s sight.
He’d flayed him so often he now hunched his back
where his skin had knotted and mended like string
but the worst of his fears – the drunken attacks
humiliating tears and the terror it would bring.
He stood it for so long, it should never have been
this pain from a guardian, so vile and obscene
till one day a knife found its way into his hand
at the time of the stabbing he was only fourteen.
Being out on a farm and there being just them two
he was terrified he’d be taken far away
so he buried the guardian as deep as he could
and hoped underground was where he would stay.
He tended the farm and made it quite a success
and carried on as best as he could
he finished education and returned to the farm
where he waited almost hoping for last night’s flood.
The terrible secret that he’d kept all these years
made him avoid making friends so he’d no kind of life
he watched television and he read many books
and discounted all thoughts of a girl or a wife.
How he’d survived the twenty years since he just didn’t know
he was lonely and so terribly sad
and though he knew what he’d done was all that he could
he was painfully aware that it was wicked and bad.
And so in a way the storm held mixed blessings
he could finally admit to all what he’d done
he knew that his life would never be the same
but in his thirty-fours there was not a thing he had won.
With reluctance and a heavy heart he drew curtains back
rain water and mud flooded his land six feet deep
and though sheds had fallen and hedgerows lay bent
the ground yielded nothing and his secret it would keep.
Slowly he now realised that he’d wanted this release
but he’d not be believed if he called anyone
he couldn’t bear the thought of more years of disgrace
so finally, desperately, he loaded his gun………..
©Joe Wilson – …the worst of his fears…2014
