Weird! Weird! How weird was I?
Married the guy who had said all lies.
Aunt was right, she judged him best and bright.
I was wrong pretending them some absurd recites.
Shattered into pieces my heart would never be whole, it couldn’t be cured.
Bearing all I had to bear but the loneliness killing my broken-soul.
Silence everywhere; nervousness appeared how to cease my existence I didn’t know.
His changes eating me, he was a ruined man I couldn’t establish.
His mugs of coffee turned into pots of whiskey.
Time to time he drank and slept complaining about the rain he detest.
If the weather looked fine, he had his time.
Alerting the servants for the carriages-a passion in shooting- for some handful refreshment.
For a friend in need. Like a friend could serve,
The lust he wished for, visiting London and abroad by shooting and drinking.
Latter at the pubs and bars enjoying his life,
Leaving his wife behind,
To block sounds of bickering about quitting friends and rejecting past,
for his own sake to earn pleasures
I yelped, he cursed my soul.
What could I do more?
Leaving him was a good option; I thought- trembled and said no word.
If I had spirit- I would have said goodbyes, but thought to ignore the man ignored me with all his efforts.
The darkness deepened. That’s what I feared to leave and disappear.
I did so. Without words I found my way and ended up in Elven Hay.
That’s where I am now. Leaving with my son, named after his father,
denied by my broken-soul,
What could I say to the child? To the baby I talk every morning and the evenings are the gladdest ones. He shares his life with his mum.
Won’t let my boy turn out a toy. A gentleman I will create him with more love and if God’s blessings are with me.
My story ends here-unfinished-but Unlucky Lucy turned Lucky Lucy.
Just bless her passionately-kiss her sorrowful words streaming eyes over and over the written down life she had suffered.
I am inspired after reading half, just half of the story ‘The Tenant of Wildfell Hall’ written by Anna Bronte. I haven’t completed the book yet. I love reading poetry, and try writing short but it gets long and huge because I always have so much to tell, so much to express. This isn’t the first poem I am writing but I should say this is the very first idea which isn’t mine and is taken from the book. I haven’t completed it yet so you know my length of writing could turn out into a poetry book which I want to write but the idea should be mine. This poetry has only the central idea and some of inner ideas but I tried to express my own feelings. Helen turned out Lucy and his son’s name is Arthur which here is not mentioned.