There is a ribbon

That so eloquently drapes her gravesite

She was a victim of violence—

 

A woman full of life

Taken so abruptly

Worn down, beaten down,

A victim of society—

 

She was no crack head,

She was no prostitute,

She was no mule

She was a victim of society—

 

She was pregnant at seventeen

Excommunicated at eighteen

From the only family she knew

She was a victim of society

            A victim of society—

 

A year from graduation

Thrust into a marriage of circumstance

With a man of the streets,

With decades of hate—

 

He had no mannerisms to speak of

            His wife a possession

                        And

                                    Not a queen

She was a victim of society—

 

His anger manifested in her pain

That resonated with abuse

With no help in sight

She was a victim of society—

 

Where is the help—she asked?

She prayed for relief

Is this society answers to my pain?

Is it left on my doorsteps?

Doorsteps of depth ears

She was a victim of society—

 

So here she lies—in this cold grave,

A victim of society,

A victim of aggression,

A victim of abuse,

A victim of domestic violence,

And no answer,

            To her plea

She was a victim of society!

 

Written by  

G E Shaw