The Painting

I sit here,
Innocently watching,
Innocently listening.
Do they even know
I'm here with them?
Would they tear each other apart so
If they knew another soul
Resides in the same room?

The man grabbed the lady's shirt,
Pushing her hard.
I expect to hear a cry
When she hits the ground-
But there is only silence.

I long to reveal myself
To stop this evil man.
But I cannot,
For I am a silent pair of eyes.

I sit there,
Waiting for her to get up.
If it were like before
She would begin to cry,
Say she would leave him.
If it were like usual
He'd say he loved her still
        He'd say his actions didn't mean a thing.
                                   He'd ask her for forgiveness.

But this time is different.
No cry emits from the mistress' mouth.
His word's were louder,
His actions were harsher.
Words cut through her skin like a blade.
His cheeks were red,
A mix of cold weather, alcohol and anger.
His hands were white,
From the gripping and ungripping of his fists.

I wish I had revealed myself,
Hindered this evil man.
But I did not
For I am a motionless set of legs.

I've been sitting here
Many years have passed
Since that day.
There was never another tear
Shed in this house.
No emotions left to dwell,
No more hate or anger.
Never has hope re-entered this house hold
Love, sadness, faith...
This building was devoid of these.

The old wish I had
To yield the wicked man
Have dissolved like dust.
A simple painting on the wall can speak a thousand words
But never out loud.