Through Darkest Deeds
© Brenda Joy
Winner, 2025 Silver Quill Written Bush Poetry Competition, Pinjarra, WA.
They say it’s Post Traumatic Stress
an issue that they must address
if I’m to lose my nervousness and fears.
I know they try
but how can I
stop hearing,
and fearing
the danger signals shrieking in my ears?
Back then I did not see the signs.
Your character was etched in lines
like ruts that gouge terrain of arid lands.
Where life is rough
they raise boys tough
endorsing,
enforcing
the need for strength the country realm demands.
But bush-bred ‘true blue’ men protect
their women folk and give respect:
this is a part of Aussie mateship’s bond.
Yet you abused
your strength and used
your forceful,
remorseful
controls on one unable to respond.
You made me think I was to blame;
I’d hide my battered form in shame –
a chattel lacking spiritual worth.
I felt betrayed
yet still I stayed
while pleading
and bleeding
from viciousness your anger would unearth.
My senses are on red alert.
The memory of being hurt
brings shudders. I can’t sleep without a light.
No safety zone
can stop the drone:
your grilling
and chilling
tirade still resonates throughout the night.
Stark visions stalk me from the past
and it’s as if your power’s cast
an evil spell that hovers over me.
It infiltrates
and radiates
specific,
horrific
facsimiles that stop me being free.
In blackness, shaking in my bed
your image fills my heart with dread.
Emotional and physical abuse
exudes its pain.
Dire dreams remain.
Eyes streaming,
I’m screaming
“Don’t thrash me, bash me, trash me! Cut me loose!”
I feel so lost and insecure.
Some days I feel I can’t endure
the stressful palpitations that begin.
I want to hide
away inside.
I’m aching
and breaking
and yet I can’t let anybody in.
To overcome they say I must
relearn to open up and trust
but torment still exacts its heavy toll.
Through fractures borne,
dark deeds have drawn
a daunting
and haunting
indelible imprint upon my soul.
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