Sleepless nights
Of endless flashes
Memories drawn on filthy canvas
Sweaty sheets wringing with tears
Floating on heartache
Dripping with fears
Eyes wide shut
Yearning for dawns early light
Sun branding deep in a troubled soul
Relinquished with no fight
Darkest shadows hiding hideous secrets
Oozing from a shameless gland
Caressing my tender self worth
Like uncle John’s calloused hands
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is a very well written and intense poem, Priscilla, and a terribly sad one as well. There is a lot of guilt in this poem, guilt that is not your fault. If I am understanding this poem correctly, you are a victim, not an offender. The way this poem is cleverly phrased cannot disguise that fact. Your Uncle Josh is the offender, and you his victim, probably when you were just beginning to be a teenager. I have written a poem on this subject, as told from the viewpoint of the victim, called 'My Daddy's Hands, ' and it is on this site. Ordeals such as you were subjected to are very hard to overcome. I hope you have had some counseling from the women's organizations that provide it. They will be a big help to you if you seek them out. You have shown some very good poetic talent in this moving poem and will hopefully find some more cheerful subjects to write about. I know you will if you get some help. Carl.