‘Hope For My Sons’ A Poem Written By Another Australian Victim Of Domestic Violence

‘Hope For My Sons’ A Poem Written By Another Australian Victim Of Domestic Violence

On a journey not sure how long it’ll last,
looking forward but acknowledge the past.
I’m confused as ever, what it is to be a man,
the right to be a father, forever banned.

Nil career, no gains. Nil funds, but pain. Poor health again,
for when Anna and Albo’s plebs enforce the legals, they make it rain.
The vexatious complaints are in abundance,
As the fraudulent support services give dangerous advice with nil reluctance.

Lady justice won’t help, its beyond her control,
to be tarred with the misogynistic brush, feels like life parole.
The misuse of the system is off the chain, as the solicitors’ fees hit time and time again.
personal gain and greed is rife, and again the industry sticks us with the knife.

A wise man once told me, ‘You’ve gotta be in it to win it’,
i’ve taken on that mantra minute by minute,
Cause when the dirty tactics are raining down, there is no time to frown,
because the next swinging boot is coming, even though he’s down and on the ground.
Long term goals are up in the air, but on this advice, its abundantly clear,
the win won’t come from the sidelines, whilst sulking in despair.

A Right style prosecution with an agenda from the Left wing,
I’m seeing it play out as the most dangerous thing.
As the big Charlies place their head in the sand,
that insidious industry continues to grandstand,
More support, more protection, more money for us!,

slam the patriarchy, run em down with a bus!

My travels thus far have been hard, but one thing that stands out,
is the women in my life stepping up without pout.
The honourable women in this world who care, make my burden to bare,
a little lighter to carry despite the despair.
Those women are golden in this hectic world. That understand the possibility . . . .
that maybe equality . . . . is not in conflict and competition, but humanity and humility.

The further I travel,
my hatred for people unravels.
The ill feelings of contempt are replaced with pity and sorrow,
because hope is the new possibility for tomorrow.
Hope, that both women and men taking responsibility,
. . . . . . . will no longer be antiquity,
Replacing the minutes of strain with a longer game, while hourly goals and daily grinds,
may allow some light to shine.

I may never see my boys in time,
but that hope for my sons will always be mine.

-A Silenced Father


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