Trial and Terror

The tongues so blunt do so sharply bury their slander in minds that are dull or indifferent.

A scalpel of fire and truth, ...love... useless.
Discernment and sense, foreigners,
mere cast aways on islands of obviousness.
Motive sits in the corner snickering,
going unnoticed...
or ignored.

Once impressions made,
years of societal sophistry cement condemnation,
in a trial that never commenced...
a hearing where not all are heard,
with evidence only found at the tip of maliciousness.

The echoes of which repeatedly, flog my heart and dreams, and the spirits of my loved ones.

Tenderized by the top of the totem pole,
hungry for justice, and longing to be one again,
a family free from bent scrutiny.

There is no end to the torture,
nor knowing when the next bout will begin,
the shoe that will kick your ass and knock out your teeth,
silencing your screams of despair,
muffling maternal instinct.

...waiting for it to drop.
...Praying it never shall.


I go through another day,
biting my tongue...
swallowing my tears...
wiping the eyes of my young with the cloth upon my breast.