My place, locked forever between soil and sea.
Home. Or at least to me and my contemporaries.
I claim it as my own, my home, my safe place, because I am big
and strong. How wrong is that? Safety should be universal not personal.
Six billion people living in different
Places peopled by men and women just like me.
People. Produced by this land or that land,
Line-bred to be just so. ‘cause that’s how it goes here! there!
everywhere! Like grass growing on a green verge, tall and straight, seed heads held high as far as the eye can see.
Look close at any crop,
And see. Some are twisted, some don’t flow with the herd
or bend with the wind. Acquaintances warped.
The twisted blades
And our eyes.
Yes our eyes
Our Eyes, OUR EYES
that look away. Say that it is ok.
To beat kids, to hit women, to hit anyone.
To rape kids, to rape women to rape anyone.
We look away from them
These broken blades that scythe the hot wind of what we like to call sin.
What is sin?
does sin excuse the abuser?
In the confessional with who?
Does calling it sin, mean it can be forgiven,
make less grave the rape.
The Taking of identity
The need to cry
and we excuse
and we ignore.
The abusers of the innocent. Creatures bent out of shape by
We can coin a thousand excuses for the abuses they commit,
Say they are sick,
not to blame.
In a society that aims to exonerate everybody,
we can lift a thousand rugs
and sweep it out of sight, the blight that offends our eyes.
But it’s still THERE
It’s not fucking right and it never will be fucking right.
in the name
of goddamn forgiveness
The people already suffering
You know it must stop.
The Life taken,
We who stand and stare, glare, glance, dance around truths
That need to be spoken
Need to stand against the abusers and mend the truly broken.
© Dave Kavanagh 2016