Creative Corner: Poetry by Ritual Abuse Survivors	Ritual Abuse, Ritual Crime and Healing

 

Death

 

The blood drips off his face --
Half of it blown away,
The other half numb from pain.
He stumbles down the streets,
Ignored by all,
Was he even there at all?

One of his arms -- gone,
Just a little stump is left.
He takes his other,
Puts it to his mangled face,
Smears the blood across,
Then licks it off his hand.

All his hope is gone,
No longer does he wish to live,
To die, his only dream.
He hears a voice behind him,
Someone recognizes his being,
Who could it be?

A woman,
Coming nearer and nearer,
Calling his name,
Again and again.
His pain was all ov'r,
No more nightmares --
They were in the past.
She reaches out,
He takes her hand --
And together they walk,
Out of sight,
Out of mind.
No one would miss him now.

She gave him peace,
He could begin his life anew.
This strange woman,
But was she:
A woman,
A man,
A spirit...
A spirit who takes away life,
To let them start again.
Who leads away the sick and ugly --
Without fear.
She is the end to all,
And the beginning to all;
For without her no new life could be made.
She is DEATH,
And DEATH is the beginning and the end.

• JL

 

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