The Poor Wife, The Broken Man Poem by Peter Bain

A gentle sound
All around
Sobbing from a chair
A poorly soul
Beyond control
Hardly even there

She knows my face
Observes my space
She's climbing from that chair
Clawing, scratching
Closing in
It's more than I can bare

I feel afraid
This mess we've made
As sobbing turns to cries
She drops a tear
And drags me near
Rage in bloody eyes

A horrendous scream
A tortured dream
A sleep where know one can waken
My wonderful wife
Suffering this life
All her beauty taken

I tried my best
I failed the test
I'm now a broken man
I love her still
And always will
As much as anyone can

They've calmed her now
I've wiped her brow
Her fragrance on my sleeve
I remember her style
Her beautiful smile
I whisper 'I love You' then leave