And Wonder Where Her Angels Are? ©
As he cries alone in his softness. As no one sings her innocence. As he protects himself from his protectors. As she endures the broken boundaries and broken promises. As he learns he is the unloved child, and seeks the answer to
“Why did you make me at all?”
Where are the angels for this breaking child who holds his brokenness within, but cannot hide the wire welts, or circle burns, or tearing of pink flesh, or merely the sight of eyes looking through her as if an invisible nothing?
Are angels listening to his silent screams, or to the cries of “ NO!! MOMMY NO!! I’ll be good. I’ll be good.” Or to the whimper of “No daddy. No. I don’t want to be good like that?” This breaking child has need to know the truth of never being good enough.Within the sanctuary of her home, she is betrayed. And, it is not safe to tell another, and it is not safe to go. Or stay. And, it is not safe at all. Anywhere. Anytime. Ever.
But, still she runs………to find the angels………. under the table, into the cupboard, Over the fence, through the fields, behind the mask which hides her soul. Where can the angels be? When running from the nameless terror, one has need of angels. One must seek the angels. Any one, any one at all, may be the angel sought. Just one who will see the terror in this child’s eyes, if one simply chooses to see.
There is a lullaby of the breaking child, she sings within so silently to those she would have love her.
“Wishing to be your sunshine……….. wishi犀利士
ng not to be your rain. To be your sweetest joy, not your screaming pain. For I was born to be loved by you, and forever I will give and give, just to be loved by you. If not, then why did you make me at all?”
And, with that prayer song, that cry of innocent hope, he will be shamed and broken slowly. For the breaking is gradual to come in the heart of a still trusting child.Like a snow-white dove, tethered and plucked naked, one feather at a time,
Feather by feather by feather by painful, bloody feather………until there remains no possibility of flight. Not even to the angels.
Have you ever watched a child break, and wonder where his angels are? Some would say a Mother’s love is the strongest love of all. Ah! But I have seen, with my own eyes, the love of an unloved child, and have been made still with wonder.
Morgan Annawyn Rose ~ Spring, 1998