Brought Back

It would be done, this night
She could bare it no longer
The pain that she had carried
had got stronger and stronger

With her husband working nights
Once again, she was alone
In this big old country house -
this country home

They once had such good times -
such a happy family
But her life ended then
when at the age of three
their little boy, Billy
was found, dead, in the pond

The funeral cortege
that followed them
was very very long

And the tears and the bitterness
carried throughout the years
Incriminations, accusations
aimed with venom – with closed ears

They refused to listen,
hardly ever talked
about that one day in winter
when their baby boy was brought,
to that big old country house
but he was dead

Blood pouring from a wound
he received upon his head
The authorities were called
but they could do no more

‘Accidental Death,’
And then they walked
out the front door

Leaving a husband and a wife -
a broken family
losing their only son
at the age of three
But the husband had to work
To put bread on the table

To keep his mind, occupied
if he was able
While the wife just stayed at home

And from the window
she would sigh
being left all alone within
this country house
she’d cry

And months turned into years
And time, it passed them by
But every day that passed her
Her Billy, never left her mind

She could see him in her mind’s eye
Still, with his little red rain-mac

Running down the garden
with a bag pack upon his back

Reaching out, to touch him
a figment in the air
Clutching at straws -
there was nobody there

So with her mind made up
and her husband working nights

She decided that tonight would be
the best night of her life
She had turned her back on God
Did not want to know Him

He had turned His back on her
When she wanted Him to show
that He could work a miracle
and bring her son back

The many times she prayed
but there had been a
definite sense of lack

On the part of God
So she decided to attack
She would pray and honour another
Praying to the ‘other’ god, every night

Pentagram upon the floor
black candles lit, so bright
Then one particular night
Thunder and lightning rent the air

She sat inside that pentagram
and she began to stare
and concentrate,
upon the chant of revival

Offering herself up to the devil
for her son to be alive
and well again

That is all she ever wanted
‘Satan, here my prayer,’ she said
‘Please, finish what I’ve started’

Then a crash of lightning
the black candles went out
The air turned cold
There was somebody about

A knock on the front door
And she ran in a hurry
Looked down to see

a little boy
shivering and cold
wearing a red rain-mac
about 3 years old

His hood up over his head
shivering, cold at that

‘BILLY!’ She screamed. Oh, Billy
I’ve missed you, so
She grabbed him tight, and
would not let go

All sorts of questions,
were running through her mind
She thanked the devil profusely
for being so kind

And as the night wore on.
She still could not see his face
Sat up with his hood, at the table

She did not think it strange
After all, this was her little boy
who had been lost to her, but now she
was full of joy

‘I want to play. I want to play hide and seek’
There seemed to be an echo, within his voice
It sounded weak

‘But, right now, Billy? In the middle of the night?’

‘Yes,’ said Billy I want to play, alright? I will find you
mummy, you go hide., I will find you, then you can be
by my side’

So off she went, into the parlour she ran
Hid in the cupboard and counted to ten.
Then his voice echoed, strangely, around the house
‘Mummy, I am coming to get you, hide yourself soon.’

But as she hid, her knees began to knock
A fear overwhelmed her
and she wanted so, to stop

But as she made up her mind
to step out of the room
the door, burst open
and there, in the gloom

of the big, country house -
whom she thought was
her little boy

a demon stood, before her
full of hatred – with no joy

it sneered
She fell to the ground in shock


Wayne Leon Learmond
Brought Back
All Rights Reserved

Brought Back

Wayne Leon Learmond

Liverpool, United Kingdom

  • Artist
  • Artwork Comments 1

Artist's Description

Beware you grief-stricken women who reside in country homes, for what you wish for…isn’t always what you get.

Artwork Comments

  • onesugar
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