A heart of hate belonging to another whose eyes could cut into a soul like a swordsman’s steel. The tiny figure ever so small always stiff and frozen. The elders face burning with passionate hatred and dislike caused trembling and terror. A Heart of stone, no tears would ever fall from those eyes that could bring harm with only a glance. A quietness on the outside, a certain charm; the soul metaphorically carried arrows and sling that could pierce and bruise. The invisible hands of hate tore apart a child’s heart and it would forever lay slit open. After decades of trying to be loved, the tiny figure grew into an adult, one day buried the Heart of Stone, and found themselves growing old; old body, old memories. The thought of the another who had been gone for years still put fear into the old soul that never forgets the Heart of Hate.
Love and Peace
Author’s note: I have been thinking of the many words or phrases that I have used throughout my life when thinking of a heart that knew nothing but hate. It is not possible to know at what age a child can begin to think of the personality of their parents or their own. Impersonal, uninvolved, closed, shutdown.
A parent that is detached, distant, characterizes a schizoid personality disorder, which–at their extreme–cold people can sometimes be); a parent that is self-absorbed, withdrawn, emotionally unavailable, unfeeling, affectionless; unsmiling–straight-faced (or stone-faced/ stone heart), cold-hearted, no empathy or compassion, angry, hostile. This was my mother!
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The artwork by the Author is acrylics on canvas. First, Native American medicine man, middle, Native American mother and child, third right Native American family Acrylics.