When all the sorry’s of tomorrow are taken.

Photo

A burden of poison spills from your lips
truths once held become mans laborious chip, “And still they have not apologised”
I ponder who ‘they’ are and beg they
stand forward with their fellow man
and plead requital in united stand,
But alas ‘they’ do not exist
A figmant of propaganda how many times
must we say sorry for the sins of
our fathers?
My hands are clean of blood, my mind clean of hate,
And still you condemn me to the devils gate.
Poison spills from the devils lips
As you recreate little bits, history told
from the sight of the blind, for the deaf
of muted mind, so little truth there to find.
And we say show us the facts
And you say jezeebel, hinderer of truth
Lies, mudblood . . . “look how they refuse
to listen, refuse to repent for their sins”
And still I ask you show me these things.
Hate is a heavy burden for any heart,
And lest we ever forget the trampled chains of regret from a life dug in the past, we etch unity now in the minds of our crying bairns. But for all our
whispers of love you tell them of
a hate that belongs not of this time.
You twist a truth to fit a crime a minority report not yet conceived, by a future stained in the blood of your hate. Future generations stained not by history or apologies from non existent entities, futures generations destroyed by the hate of your tongue, humanities personal civil war, man on fellow man with your
propaganda proposals and
puppeteer strings, yet no one stops to
ask, from where came this mans
deathly sting.

Karen Hayward ©2017
Image and words

Please, never thank me.

image

Thank you…never have these words hurt more than when you are sobbing in my arms.
Thank you… never does a tear come so close then when fear has you in its grip…and you are thankful that I am there.
Thank you…never more than now have I wanted to tell you to please, please forget your manners.
For never when you are breaking do you need to thank me for being there.
Never.

Karen Hayward ©2016

More storms, we are camped out eating ice creams under the covers 😀

Humanity not authority. (I’m sorry)

It’s okay i’ll pick up the broken pieces of your thoughtless crime,

after all, you are beyond reproach, the responsibility is mine.

I don’t ask that you truly understand, just that you try

so that when I am holding her, I see hope, when she cries.

If you could only pause and open your mind

look at her, that’s when you’ll find.

I give you the answers but if you refuse to look

she will remain an old and dusty unopened book.

‘I’m sorry.’

Such a simple expression expected daily from them.

Never from you, a futuristic example from which to stem.

You are unique and I will treat you so, do You understand?

You tell her this, me this, the board of governors this,

yet even you don’t believe this bullshit.

In your fight for authority

you’ve forgotten how it is to see.

Lead by example, show her that when she makes a mistake

when the anxiety rises and her words it does take,

show her humanity,

not authority.

Don’t ask more questions, she has no answer beyond fear

she will only utter what she believes you want to hear,

for this soul crippling reality you give her punishment

another missed opportunity for you to have given nourishment.

She is sorry, her tears the evidence, the lonely walk, the mornings washing

But are you?

Are you sorry that you were unable to see a very simple dated error?

Are you sorry that you punished terror with terror?

Are you sorry that you chose to use words that she could not understand,

and that after, you didn’t hold out your hand?

Are you sorry that your mistake pushed her into a responsive state?

I’m sorry,

your apology now, would come too late.

 

Karen Hayward ©2016