Time To Tell

I am always indignant about the atrocities that I read about around the world.
Yet never do I speak about Canada’s own unspeakable horrors.
The treatment of Indigenous people.
Residential schools.
In Canada residential schools were created to tear young indigenous children from their families.
Forcing them to wear clothing that was not their own.
Forcing them to cut their hair.
Forcing them to learn a language that was not their own.
Forcing them into an entirely foreign world.
They were raped.
They were beaten.
They were exterminated.
Of course there has been a commission.
Of course the findings were whitewashed.
Apologies made.
Swept back under the covers.
Sanitized.
Or so they thought.
This weekend in BC (British Columbia-Canadian Province) a mass grave of 215 indigenous children was found.
There is nothing that can make this right.
There are no words that I can write that can explain the heartache the pain the tears that I have cried.
Not for myself but for these children.
For the parents who watched their children leave never to return or to return broken.
Angry.
They were abused and treated as less than because a book taught this and it was acceptable practice.
The taint of residential schools should be taught in all of our history books.
Not the gentle version taught to children these days.
The past was a brutal place to live.
We should never forget that.
It needs to be taught so we can avoid the atrocities that plague all times.
In today’s culture when we are becoming ‘woke’ and no longer want to celebrate people i.e. wanting to not call Victoria day because Queen Victoria inherited and ruled over a vast empire et al may I ask why we are not cancelling religion?
Not one but all.
Books of religion have been weaponized throughout the ages.
Used to justify war, subjugate people who are different, beat down ideas, used to create ideals of how the world should live, so on and so forth.
Yet still they are celebrated.
Still used as a weapon.
A question to ponder.
It has left me scratching my head.
©May 31/21
Picture is my own

Untitled Dark Poem #9

Play not with my heart
as you did my body;
plucking
strumming
notes of harmony
flowing
below the surface
taking a man
firm of hand
seeing
the true woman beneath
mask blurring
as though
witnessed
floating
beneath still pools of water
lily pads dancing
scent in the air
uncertain
hesitant…..
Where are you going?
Where are you taking me?
Why is there blood?
Crimson bright
against snow white.
What have you done?
Scattered to the winds
east
west
south
north
portions of my heart
unstrung
sent winging
even as your body pounds
thrusting
over
and over
and over
taking
making
me your own.
©May 10/21
Picture via Pinterest