My Poem

I have not written any poetry for a few years and today I was sitting thinking, while I was in my room and he was in his, I suddenly realised that he has created his childhood home in this house. He grew up with a violent, angry father and the poem speaks for itself hopefully.

5 Cotton Lane
is a house of pain
Noone knows who you are
they barely know your name
Secrets are hidden
Behind a closed door
but the pain seeps up
through the walls and the floor
Noone talks about things that matter
they just meet in the kitchen
for a tea and a chatter
Noone touches, don’t come near
you may smell my anger
you might sense my fear
The big bad wolf
still knocks at the door
his spirit lingers
though he is no more
I bet he’s proud of his life
fucked up kids
and a screwed up wife
No equipment to pull them out
noone to hear them
over the screams and shouts
so they all start yelling
as loud as they can
to be heard they turned angry
every woman every man
And they went on their way
not knowing what was wrong
into a world 
where they did not belong
Each one went out
and slowly became
their very own monster
in their own Cotton Lane



4 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Linda
    Nov 21, 2008 @ 23:06:38



  2. Shirley-Anne
    Nov 22, 2008 @ 10:47:18



  3. shivers
    Nov 24, 2008 @ 10:41:04

    nice one!


  4. Cotton lane former resident
    Feb 22, 2016 @ 18:38:47

    5 cotton lane was not a violent house, Mr mean has lied to you


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