When the Dove Stops Flying

I hear them outside my closed door

begging me to tell

But how much would they want to know

Of my journey through hell?

 

I’ve seen things and I’ve lived them

Things they think they know.

The sense of betrayal and untold pain

From the peaceful dove turned crow.

 

This silence is my heaven.

This isolation is my key

To Saint Peter’s forever-closed gate

And a never-ending sea.

 

They ask me why I’m different now

But they’ll never understand

How this shattered shell of a broken women

Was fractured by a man.

Author's Note

Haven't messed too much with poetry before, and I'm generally not good at it, but I figured I'd at least give it a shot. Tell me what you think!