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Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Evening the Odds

She sits alone in the darkness,
Cold steel in her hands.
He was her fulcrum of chaos,
A black hole
Devouring sunshine,
Hope,
Her gullible heart.
Her head is spinning,
Subliminal whispers of his guilt
Rush through her mind.
Tears stream across her ruddy cheeks
And the fading echoes of his anger.
She gives a slight shudder,
Knowing he will return soon,
Smug,
Mellow.
Confident he has broken her at last.
She hears a rustle at the door,
The lock tumbling,
Venomous cursing
About the untidy state of his house.
Consequences must be paid.
Tonight, she evens her odds
As the cold steel in her hands roars to life.

2 comments:

Marianne said...

Spectacular poem! There's so much satisfaction in getting even!

Mary said...

This is one powerful poem! She's ready this time.