A boy cried to himself while being raped,
by a man that was to be a mentor,
memories of a joyful youth being stripped away,
replaced by dark horrors of touch,
witnesses turn their back and ignore,
fear for what may be uncovered,
instead of exposing and protecting the truth,
turning in the taker of children,
all guarded their reputations,
silence of what was right and just,
instead they all took turns contributing,
to the helpless’ shaking nightmares.
Masses pull together to be in one voice,
peacefully singing in an unified chorus,
speeches falling on deaf ears,
surrounded by violent guards of aggression,
armoured rage ready to assault peace,
intimidated until the attack on the defenseless,
pounding away on the ribs of those that care to trust,
even when the inflicted bruising is uncalled,
marching orders of the elected authority above,
to break the spirit of the people who put them there.
A little girl is rescued from a violent chamber,
of physical, mental torture,
that was inflicted by supposedly kind parents,
only to be put in a house built on more hate,
to be brought down more in a place screened to be a safe haven,
by people that had a blind job to do,
that cannot see blood or hears screams,
behind a closed door they built.
People on a hill that are sworn to protect,
those that cannot protect themselves,
the masses that are told to trust,
beaten, bloodied, again and again,
by suits that have a mission to line their pockets,
just to listen to those givers like string puppets,
closed eyes , head turned from the angst,
of the spoken, common people who they are taking liberties from.
© Andrew Scott
Excerpt form the book “Divided Lines – A Poet’s Stance”
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Foreword . . .
In a world of ever increasing advances seemingly created to make our lives easier to manage, envisioned to bring us together, to draw us closer, we are still in many instances isolated and at odds and validly apart. Something is missing, there is a snag, a rip, a hole in the spiritual fabric that we all see; yet we continue to fail to address.
It has been said by self-proclaimed philosophers, theologians, scholars’ and politicians that the abuse of words can be a danger, there are those that believe words are a leading factor in what ills our society. Of this we do not deny in full, there have been abuses, history is but a melody to that fact, yet it is also true that words have the innate capacity to bridge, to heal that which divides.
Opinions, views, religions, nations, people, even love divides. The focus of this book and the poets here in, is to give breath to a wide range of issues both small and controversial that lie beneath the surface. Things that we are often hesitant to discuss. In saying that, I will offer that the role of a poet is not to persuade or to add more rhetoric to the static we hear. A poet’s responsibility is to shine the light of awareness, to create a platform for dialogue, for healing, to gather up the images in an attempt to understand what we see.
Demitri Tyler, Author
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