That, Wished Forgotten, Doesn’t Benefit The Downtrodden


Take that which was left withering.

Call out for the deserted.

Watch them emerge from Holy places.

Look at the put-downs written across their faces.

The stillness of words,

the speechless echoes of what was once spoken to save appearances.

Scapegoats left bleeding,

glasses raised in smug celebration.

Alliances built on smiles, subjugation and people pleasing .

Lies hidden behind smoke screens of charm and self-congratulation.

That, wished forgotten, doesn’t benefit the downtrodden.

Call out for the broken,

the wounded carer,

the grateful soldier,

those branded as lesser.

Help them see that

the way through the night

is by Divine forgiveness and His pierced way to new life.

Like a lantern lit, then wrapped in darkness,

light breaks out through its cracks.

Once hardened lies drip to the floor like wax.

Tattooed hearts transposed into a melody of scars

Each beat a reminder, that the future should never be determined by the past;

Each a lingering memory;

Each memory verse a watchman;

Every ounce of pain turned into a lesson;

Every bit of faith guiding total forgiveness,

Each awakened nerve, calling out against careless forgetfulness.


  Image: sdh_photos

Hildegard of Bingen:

“Rise up, therefore, cry out and speak forth those things made known to you
by the great strength of Divine assistance.”

(Selected Writings, circa 1100s.)

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