I wonder of this is about protecting the heart that’s been captured? Tell me if I’ve read it completely wrong 🙂

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    That is the joy of poetry Delyn, it can mean different things to different people. When I wrote the poem my thoughts were around domestic violence and how some people will trap the hearts of others and treat them badly until others victims came along. In my time in the police I dealt with numerous victims who seemed to move from one abusive relationship to another.


      Oh my–I suppose that having been such a victim, I immediately went to my wish to be protected. I left at 3 yrs–unfortunately, with my trust destroyed, I never married again. I had hoped to, but there was no one heroic enough to win my heart…and I am very content and satisfied being alone, so there was no motivation to “keep trying”. Also, I didn’t have children–which I suspect sometimes moves women to seek another relationship too soon, whether healthy or not, simply to have some support. Currently I have neighbors, 2 couples in abusive partnerships–the women lie to the police when someone else calls in a report. So nothing changes–and as there are no children involved, I’ve frankly lost any compassion for them; in fact, I’m angry that they must play out their issues mere yards from me, disturbing my transient peace. At any rate, I love your poem–and so appreciate chatting with you about it, and issues. Is it Sunday there? If so, have a blessed week, Davy 🙂

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      Delyn, I am pleased that you found contentment from what was a difficult time. Being on the police side of the issue opens your eyes to what people can be like in relationships and the pain victims are prepared to endure. Thank you for sharing this part of your story Delyn. Yes, it is Sunday here. 9am as write this and I off looking for treasures at a car boot sale. Have a great week.

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      Hope you found some great deals–catch you later!

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One thing that the “victims” often forget when they have children is that what they are going through, they are also allowing their children to suffer through. These little victims, even if not beat upon themselves, are scarred forever and trapped between hating and loving the very people that should be protecting them and making home safe for them.

I cried myself to sleep many nights, jumping at the least little noise. Wondering if that gun shot killed either of them and which one, if it did. Who would I be left with? I still picture, plain as day, slipping open the door of their bedroom, my mama screaming, “Jimmy, don’t!” as he threw a huge wooden rocking chair across the room where she was huddled in the corner of their iron bed.

I was able to forgive my daddy. I grew to understand the demons of his troubled childhood and the pain that he was suffering from arthritis that drove him to drink, which led to the domestic violence.

It is my mama that I have trouble forgiving. She grew up terrified in a house darkened by domestic violence, too. Remembering her own pain was not enough to get her to think about her own children and what they were enduring. She chose financial security over protecting the emotional and mental health of her children. Between the two people that give a child life, a mother, most of all, is supposed to be there for her children, protecting them, no matter what. She was there for herself and his money, clueless to – or not caring about – the fall out around her…or the pain it would cause down the road.

Sorry to write a book here. It is just another one of those hot topics for me. Have a blessed day!

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oh. this appears to me like a heart who has captured several hearts and can’t seem to choose one.
a thought-provoking piece, Davy!

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