Creative Corner:
Poetry by Ritual Abuse Survivors

Ritual Abuse,
Ritual Crime
and Healing

 

The Birds and I

 

Flying, Sun on my wings
Leaving behind clouds of smoke,wreckages
And dead burnt mutilated masses
Of fleshy things
My mind reeling and stomach turning
Never ever getting over
Sweating and shaking
Where is relief?

Ah! A flock of birds
Where are they going?
I know
Thier winter is over
Following nature's call
Home

I wonder when
My winter will be over
And my call to home come.....

© Scott

 

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