A knife through the heart

She clutched the photo

that had brought her so much joy

but now her hammering heart 

was bruised and broken.


She damped down her rage,

afraid to feel

that ferocious force which had

flared fisting her hands,

as she tried to heed the

so sad sympathetic officer.


She rocked back and forth

and shook off the hands

that longed to hold her.

Comfort was wrong.

Numbness was better.

If she didn’t feel then

surely it couldn’t be true.


Outside she could hear

cars and people

waiting for news

and somewhere, someone

was washing away her sons blood.


She held the frame, until it 

cut into her arms,

and looked across the room,

at stunned stares from the sofa.

Her beautiful children.

How could she care

for lives that could

be killed by knives

coldly cutting innocent flesh.

Would some wicked creature,

kindled by evil,

crucify her again and again?

The thoughts of the horror started to


like broken glass

through her mind


her peace 

for ever.

If you have been affected by this subject:

Helpline: 0845 872 3440

Published by


margins are a great place sometimes because it is where change happens fastest but it is also a horrible place when we are stuck in them and grace is the moment when we can see that someone cares.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.