only peace

I have only peace and hope and love in my heart now

they help me

raise me

bring me forth to see the light 

to see God holding us up

preparing us for our lives with love 

I see good health friendship family laughter joy peace happiness hope in our lives 

Horror House

I run screaming through the horror house with the kids

telling them it will be okay,

the hooded figure with bloodshot eyes  chasing us, lunging at us from dark corners, 

is just a man having fun.

Later that night I wake up to real horror- 

the flare has struck 

without warning.

She's been up all night in pain.

There is blood.

Is this God having fun? 

It's not funny.

We plan 

how to get antibiotics,

where the nearest hospital is

how to get down windy hills, a 9-hour journey by road back home, 

as our plans 

for a holiday in the Highlands

dissipates like cloud on a hot tar road

The thought of potential hospital stays, 

bland food,

blood again everywhere,

haunts us-  

the real horror house 

reminding me 

I can run but cannot hide.

I wish I could scream

and laugh it away, heart thumping,

but this horror, faceless, 

is here to stay.

I wish I hadn't v3

I wish I hadn't 

made him cower in a corner

from the poison-tipped barbs

of my words, wishing for a shield 

against the torrent that

pinned him to the wall.

The red mist lifts, 

but the shame lingers 

like slime after a snail, 

sticky, off-colour.

I am shaken.

I made a 10-year old quake,

stutter, stammer, 

ready to admit to anything 

to avoid attack,

fearful

that errant behaviour

of the mildest degree

could push his mother over.

He will wonder forever 

how he should waltz 

avoidance 

with her, around her.

He loves her 

mostly

when she cuddles him

but sometimes

he lights a match unknowingly 

that starts an inferno

and maybe he would rather 

retreat beneath his shell 

than ever do math

with her again.

#jemstones #noprompt #opentocrit

I wish I hadn't v2

I wish I hadn't 

made him cower in a corner

from the poison-tipped barbs

of my words, wishing for a shield 

against the torrent that

pinned him to the wall.

The red mist lifts, 

but the shame lingers 

like slime after a snail, 

sticky, off-colour.

I am shaken.

I made a 10-year old quake,

stutter, stammer, 

ready to admit to anything 

to avoid attack,

fearful

that errant behaviour

of the mildest degree

could push his mother over.

He will wonder forever 

how he should waltz 

avoidance 

with her, around her.

He loves her 

mostly,

like when she cuddles him,

but sometimes

he lights a match unknowingly 

that starts an inferno

and maybe he would rather 

retreat beneath his shell 

than ever do math

with her again.

I wish I hadnt

I wish I hadn't 

made him cower in a corner

cringing from the barbs of my words,

wishing for a shield 

against the torrent that

pinned him to the wall 

The red mist lifts, 

but the shame lingers like slime

sticky and off colour

I am shaken

that I made a 10 year old quake 

stutter and stammer 

ready to say anything to avoid attack,

confused, fearful

that errant behaviour

of the mildest degree

could push his mother over 

and make him wonder forever 

about how he should  dance 

the waltz of  avoidance 

with her, around her,

away from her.

He loved her 

mostly,

when she cuddled and massaged him

but

sometimes he lights a match 

that starts an inferno,

unknowingly, ,

and maybe he would rather 

retreat beneath his shell 

than ever do math

with her again.