My Poetry. Zero Tolerance.

She sits at night,
in a darkly lit room,
staring at the clock face—
eyes heavy with gloom.

Shaking in her shoes,
her right leg twitching;
rubbing her own head,
hands clasped to beg.
Afraid for her life,
a past so horribly torn;
memories of madness,
wishing she wasn't born.

Life had been happy until she married,
once filled with glee;
she partied with her friends,
being who she longed to be.
It started suddenly one day,
tears flowing fast;
she never gave a thought
that love wouldn't last.

Shouted at and frightened,
made to look a fool;
confidence now gone,
laden like a mule.
Battered and bruised,
bleeding and hurt;
scared to look at men,
let alone flirt.

The hour has come again now,
terror in her eyes;
this man she once had loved,
she now bitterly despises.

Spare a thought for women
living in their fears.
The wife, the person, the mother
should not be full of tears.

Violence is a 'no, no.'
There is absolutely no need for that.
Go get help to curb your temper,
and cease the cruel attack.

© William Sinclair Manson 2025