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Abuse
In youth, my father's hand did strike,
A beat that echoed through my mind,
A painful memory, hard to like,
But love for him, I could not unwind.
As years went by, and I grew old,
I found myself in marriage's hold,
My husband's touch, so soft and bold,
Brought joy, but also tales of gold.
His love, a shelter from life's strife,
A haven where I could be alive,
But sometimes, his embrace would bring
A beat that mirrored my father's sting.
The past and present, entwined as one,
Two loves, both strong, yet different suns,
One brightened childhood days with light,
The other warmed my adulthood nights.
Though beats from both may still resound,
Their love, distinct, without a bound,
For each has shaped me, grown me wise,
And taught me how to open eyes.
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