Life seems always to be so violent

[bluepalm]

A kind and perceptive response by RiverRabbit to another poem of mine prompted me to remember this poem, which I wrote in my early thirties, when I was acutely aware that I had been, and continued to be, under assault every day of my life and that I needed to escape a toxic marriage if I was to go on living. At that time I had no understanding of trauma or its effects. I only knew I was in a fight for my life with those closest to me who I felt kept pushing me closer and closer to self-destruction. I use 'closest to me' in the sense of physical proximity only. In reality, I was trapped with predators.

Life seems always to be so violent


Life seems always to be so violent.
A continuous battle that surges
from one theatre to another.
Now bombardment, now sniping,
now chaos, now flight.
It is wearying, so wearying.
Even the bones seem ground
about with the dust of battle,
the stench of death
hovering at the edge of the nostrils
always.