Mans deathly song and still they have not apologised.

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 figment 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 Jezebel, hinderer of truth
Lies, mud-blood . . . “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

Propaganda spew

A burden of poison spills from your lips
truths once held become mans labourous 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, future 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

The chaotic thoughts of creative mind.

I write,
Not for fame,
Or the hope of one day seeing my name
Scrawled across the cover of an unnamed book.
I write,
So that i can see, i can look,
At the chaotic thoughts
That get caught
Up in my mind.
No thought gets left unseen,
The good, the bad and the in between.
My mind works so fast,
no scenario slips past.
The wrongs the rights,
The dark and the light.
Every choice,
Every voice,
The what ifs, yeah buts,
Every posable rut.
Sometimes, I follow my gut,
and depend on good luck,
but even then,
I’ve thought about when,
Why, how,
Even now.
I can tell you the thought process,
On every angle of my lifeless
Life.
No decisions are made on a whim,
I look deep, never skim,
Consider me, consider this,
Is it something i would miss.
I make my choice,
Knowing i will lose my voice,
I’d make it again,
so It wasn’t in vain.
Every decision is well thought out,
Never
A
Choice,
i didn’t think hard about.

© Karen, A. Hayward.