This is the opening for the idea I posted yesterday, an historical fiction story told in verse alone. This is the mothers tale. The daughter’s tale will be the main story, including ‘Below Stairs‘ and ‘A Truth Unheard‘. Not sure if this will work, it may just be a case of feeding my historical addiction and it will go no further….
Barefoot she walked in the shadow of slums,
The hunger, cold, and disease ridden lungs,
A life that existed through sorrow and gloom,
Knowing that death would be calling too soon.
A childhood that ended by a forceful decree,
Abused by a landlord who demanded his fee.
A force that ripped sunder the innocent child,
Bloodied and broken, a beast that just smiled.
Banished from shelter as her body did show,
For the fruit of his loins in her belly did grow,
Thrown on the mercy of the devil’s own spawn,
Who violated her body each night until dawn.
She gave birth alone, just a pallet on the floor,
Shielding the child from the blood and the gore,
The blood never ceasing, she grew ever weak,
Whispering forgiveness against a small cheek.
Wrapped in a blanket she held close to heart,
She carried the warm bundle away from its start.
Her last breath was taken on steps of grey stone,
As she prayed that her daughter need never atone.