This is a message from the borderlands
That endless windswept unending place
So I whisper the message to you and me
If you could have heard all that I’ve heard
If you could see all those things I’ve seen
If you could have been there, far out there
If you could have listened to people’s words
Listened to all those broken hurting people
That place out there, in here, in me, in you.
The dark frontier, that secret place you know
I know, we know, we all know, but deny
its existence. But for me there is no choice
I cannot deny. It’s imprinted on my mind.
My memory is not blind, deaf or unfeeling.
But I wish sometimes that it might be so.
So now what do I do with these memories
The words I do not wish to store, to hold
Like some mad treasure trove, an archive
of the horrors of mankind, of humankind
the stories told and told and told again,
and again, again and again. The faces change
but the pain and fear and the words remain.
It’s the same, it’s unending, it’s our narrative
as long as we survive this story will evolve
and grow and grow for we are humans.
I worked amongst the desolation, fragments
survivors, of lives that might have flowered
the endless unknowing, what might have been
who would I have been if that had not been done
to me, to who I was, a child, and unsuspecting.
Imagine the innocence and the quiet trust.
And all that time of working to heal – denial
A total blindness to the reality of the harm
being done to children everywhere you look
It’s a reality, take a bus or a train, sit in a café
you will be close to someone who has survived.
And then the guaranteed denial that fact is fact
In the face of all that and then that sound
of wheels within wheels grinding, the noise
of conversations and the deals in closed rooms
to keep silence, to protect the perpetrators
and prevent the door room from being opened
and the truth from being known and shared.
Forty years of denial, obstruction and frustration.
So open the door wide and let the light in!