Through these Sheds











The paint is cracked and peeling,

holding painful memories so

unappealing, so many sorrows

contained behind the confines of

its bloodstained lane, vomit

stained steps, left to dry leaving

behind its memorable stench of

childhood lost.


With fright from nights of wonder

if he would hurt again they worried

with hollow eyes and scared looks,

each taking turns peaking through a

curtain protected by the window

of their room to see if he would

walk from side to side with blurry

eyes, they scurried under bed and

covered their little heads in fear that

he would  to do them harm



He stunk of stale cigarettes and bar

room beer mixed with sweat and

stench of passing gas among

his bar toads laughing at every

drunken word he said.


This bar room bully known to

hurt and coil like a snake

on the attack from too much

booze that oozed the venom

between his teeth that caused

him to salivate like a cornered

mad dog in heat.


Yes this shed  is weathered and its

paint has lost the charm

it once bestowed but God only

knows the better days it showed

before our family fell to the pain

of hiding behind it’s ever

lasting shadows of sculptured

children who only wanted to

run and play in the rain.


If only they had been

born into a normal home

where children played

laughed sang and felt

secure without any fear

of being torn and pushed

to limits of abuse that

no child could fully



Mama cried often and

paid the price to protect

her children from much

pain and left them crying

with her shame for not

having put to rest and

have arrested this

drunken predator

in their home.


So to all the children

in our world please speak

out and let your voices be

heard, don’t hold back





© Copyright 2013 by Vincent Moore. All rights reserved



Through these Sheds — 2 Comments

  1. A real weepy, Vincent. Knowing that there a children somewhere now going through the same or similar abuse.
    As always you worded the poem as only you can, causing me to shed tears. Nevertheless tears or not….beautiful writing.
    Every poem you pen is a little treasure.

    • I’m sorry to make you weep my dear Dim, I share what comes from my soul and past, as painful as it might be, I still have to lay pen to ink. Thank you for your glowing comments as always. Yes I sure pray that children who suffer under abuse find a way out, I did.

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