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it is cold in my family—an icy wind blows me away
frozen in loneliness and fear, I flee the storm of hostility
cast out, I shiver in the desert of isolation—the family closes
its doors against a monster, banned like a leper
who wants the truth to live—the family sacrifices the child
to serve the gods of good appearances
in whose shadow light cannot shine—the victim
—blown away by a storm of accusations—
drops into the abyss of abandonment walls of silence serve the perpetrator—they hide a crime
whose consequences are handed down to the victim
as the ultimate punishment the path to good appearances is paved with graves of victims
buried under shame and guilt—the sermon at their graves says
you are guilty for trusting and loving your fathers
how can they ever communicate what happened to them?
how can they ever tell of their suffering—when the perpetrator
is not held accountable but protected by family and society?
how can they speak their truth with dignity and decency?
fundamentally betrayed, they fall into the black hole of deceit no one takes care of their graves the victim—hopelessly alone when the crime is committed—and
when she has to bury the crime under silence for years
when she confronts the truth and dares to break the silence
—she may do anything—but—not—this—
drowns with the millstone of guilt around her neck
then she is honored with a tombstone which says—I forgive her screams—suffocated forever
© Barbara Rogers
go to: incest--answered with silence painful layers of silence unbearable silence
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Screams from Childhood
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