Possession and freedom

The flames were warming as darkness closed in.

She fidgeted as she waited.

Tonight was her’s and she nervously rehearsed

the words of her hurt and harm and healing.

Settling, the group expectantly turned,

some yawned and others looked at her, waiting,

waiting for her.

Mary moved and motioned to her to begin,

It had been Joanna last night and tears

had been softly shed

like showers after a drought.

‘It started when I was 7,’ she whispered,

startling them all into silence, as she

a small frightened child again.

Mark held her hand as she tripped over the words,

“M my uncle came to s stay and insisted I

was to be skilled in calculus and science.”

My parents listened and agreed to 

a short hour once a day 

as a trial of my intelligence.

It started straight away.

He sat me on his lap

and gradually taught me

what some men desire

as well as diverse disciplines.

I said to my parents that

I wanted to stop studying.

I tried to tell them but words stuck

like a ship on a shifting sandbank. 

My uncle said I was a natural

and so terror and torture went on, til

one day my brother joined our class and 

for a while all was learning.

He started to take us to the square

and challenge us about commerce.

But sometimes my brother

could not come and, then

he took me to his friends

who taught me some more.

I lost my mind as I tried to forget,

I could no longer eat

I had nightmares and could no longer

sleep into forgetfulness,

I learned to mistrust,

I learned to lie,

I learned to hide myself,

Feelings in me were frozen,

I hated my own flesh.

Demons some call them

driving people to destruction,

As an excuse for deciding to

damage a child.

Powerful people in positions of trust.

Does nothing change?

Then one day lying on my bed at home,

longing for the grave,

He came to supper

and knew me.

He listened to me,

and unstuck memories, 

and somehow after

He prayed for me,

feelings and tears,

friendship and love

flowed from Him,

and little by little

I found me.

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.