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To wash my mind of these dreadful deeds
It’s like trying to wash away Croagh Patrick
You can scrub and scrub
It’s like trying to empty a stream with a pitchfork or a tub
That is sleeveless and with no bottom.
Silent pain that reigns within
My wish it would be forgotten
It weaves and ebbs like an eel
In a stream
Oh! But it is sad and rotten.
Like a tailors needle with sharpened edge
That pulls through cloth forever
That is how you gored my childhood dreams
With your shameful acts of terror.
If my mind had wings that could fly and fly
Oh! I would let my pain fly away forever
But Alas, Alas there is no gleaming glow
That could erase the trembling pain of terror.
It’s like a slashing sword in a swirling wind
Where you gashed me with your reign of terror
Like a raging bull trapped in your ring
Where you speared and gored forever.
Like a thief in the night you robbed at will
And left scenes that won’t be forgotten
One’s dignity is a precious thing
That you destroyed, tore up, and up on it, left trodden.
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(This is about a senior advisor to the Bishop who wrote a glowing character reference for a paedophile.)
Crumbs of Hope
Crumbs of Hope, that’s all we’ve seen
Lavish praise on a paedophile with a glean
You remain in charge of children
I want to scream.
You turn up with children with a cynical smile
It’s like leading them into a ‘Bee-Hive’
They were stung before and they will be sung again
But you keep on doing the popular thing.
‘Oh! What a wonderful man’ I hear them sigh
Wouldn’t harm a bee nor indeed a fly.
But behind the scenes things are so vile
Oh’ you don’t want to hear it
Just let’s look at the cynical smile.
Children were abused when they were so young
It was them who were really stung
But there are no cups or medals to be seen
Or presented to those with their dying dreams.
Dreams of despair instead of dreams of Hope
Some see no way out except to hang themselves with a rope
Or drown themselves in a silent stream
Or are they already dead in their silent dreams.
Instead of giving these people some dreams of Hope
Is it any wonder they cannot Cope.
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A Damaged Child
He lay in bed last night crying
Like many’s a night before
When nobody heard him he gave up
He planned and simulated his own death.
He was already dead by childhood and sexual abuse
He recounted his friends getting medals
From a monster who praised so highly, the pervert
Who stole his life and that of his friends
He was silenced.
We just helped him to tighten the rope.
May God give him Peace.
And may God forgive all of us.
I mbóthán Dé go raibh muid ar fad. Written in October 05.
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Let’s Lavish Praise (Satire.)
In charge of children – well indeed you are
You are well known both wide and far.
Children would be safe under you – wouldn’t they!
They could live in harmony and be safe at play.
Safe at play and with ease of mind
With no perversion of any kind.
It’s a God given right – can’t you see
That children should live in harmony.
But harmony was far from the mind
Of the pervert fiend to whom you were so blind!
He made children’s lives a pure misery
With all kinds of perversion – can’t you see?
You lavished praise – Oh! He was your friend; I see!
But that doesn’t make it any easier for victims or me.
Did you ever think you might have an erring mind
OR do you think this should be the norm for all mankind
To carry out such acts of depravity
On children that should be allowed to roam free.
Did you ever think of the consequences and the living hell
That was caused to victims, who were slow to tell,
Of their lives and the pure misery,
Where it’s not a pretty place to be.
But let’s get busy with some other schemes
And let’s forget these shattered dreams.
As I sat in Court on that dreadful day
The Judge read out what you had to say.
I was in shock and I WANTED to scream.
You showed a picture of a man so kind
That would not harm children of any kind,
NO ! IT WAS US THAT WERE BLIND.
WE INVENTED and made up these SCENES,
Of sub-human acts that shattered dreams.
So, we are the liars and you are telling the truth,
Our lives doesn’t matter, it’s YOURS that rules.!
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Lost at a Child’s Airport
Oh! Do you want to see my Airport
Which really is my mind
Fogged up with such pollution and perversion of all kind.
Do you really want to see my Airport
It’s not a pretty place to be
It’s a landing space for paedophiles and little room there for me.
Do you want to see my Airport which is an Airport of despair
Full with such intrusiveness and where no one really cares.
You see someday at that Airport, I hope someone will rescue thee,
Is it because it’s a child’s Airport that no one really wants to see.
It’s an Airport of convenience for paedophiles, you know.
They use it as their landing space and put their skills on show
But I am choking at that Airport and I really want to scream
An Airport of avoidance and that of shattered dreams.
Those in charge at the Airport, should be caring for children’s wellbeing
But were more concerned about paedophiles and covering up such drastic scenes.
Like any normal Airport that has proper air traffic control
But those in charge of thee didn’t care about such a role.
This is so confusing, for any child, can’t you see
To be more concerned about paedophiles
And showed little or no concern for ye.
So is it any wonder that I am lost at the Airport and want to fly away,
Where I will have some peace of mind and someday I can have my say.
LET’S START AND BUILD A PROPER CHILD’S AIRPORT. Please.
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Left like a rag, hanging on a tree,
Not a pretty place to be.
But when you carried out acts of sub-human activity
That is actually how you left me.
Left with no light, looking at a gun
Will I pull the trigger or indeed will I run.
Put your hand on my heart,
It’s cold you see
At least I am relieved of this misery.
Listen, Listen it doesn’t tick anymore,
But you didn’t want to listen, when it was ticking before.
All are agasp!, Oh ! What could have been done,
But ye left the paedophiles for years on the run.
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Sculpture of Pain
A cascade of pain seeping of Hurt,
The brilliance of torture checked diligently on his posture.
Locked in a childhood of terror, with no rescue bridges in view.
The work of a child’s terrorist, presented like a discarded shoe lace.
The health warning sign of his cigarette package
Warning him, of the damage of smoking,
The unwritten warning sign of his breath,
Seeping of alcohol; in a way to numb his pain.
BUT no warning sign ever given, though known,
Of a child terrorist, landscaping his depravity
With a freedom of unrelenting terror that knew no boundaries.
These warning signs concealed,
In a package of Deceitful Betrayal.
A feast of despair in dire cry for help, with words too saddened to flow.
Damage caused immeasurable on the Richter scale, on the barometer of pain.
His life’s expedition confined to a reign of horror.
Numbed and exhausted by vomit of disgust.
Hanging onto life like a bat hanging onto a thin ledge,
Afraid to move outside the captivity of his cave of pain
The only friend he knows.
Are his wheels of life to be discarded like rusting fragments,
Of a decaying cart wheel!
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Your gushing waters rush to sea
And yet you look so still
With your current gait and posturing
Rocks – caressing them at will.
Your crushing noise puts minds at ease
A baffling mystery
As you escape down through my mind,
Oh, peace totally at ease.
You seem as if you are washing me
My body, soul and mind
I want to stay entrapped in you
If only for a while.
You can’t stay still and have a moment’s peace
But still you give such peace away
With your constant flow, I want to know
What guides you on your way.
You give of life abundant peace
You are weak and still so strong
A gentle pebble can breach with ease
But still you carry tons along.