Who Will Speak For Me?

Who will speak for me?

Who will say, when I was silent, my life was unbearable?
Who will say, when I came forward, my world became unlivable?
Who will ask me why? Who will ask me what I've been through?
Who will care?
Who will take my voice, listen, and understand?
Who will wonder what this has done to my family, my friends, my life
My future?
Who will be brave enough to ask me why I didn't keep quiet?
Who will have the courage to listen to my story, knowing that hearing my Story could change their world forever.

Sometimes, in a less than perfect world, bad things happen
Sometimes they happen again and again, in the same way to different people
Just because no one spoke up
In such a way the pain continues, another hurt, then another, then another

When people see the price I pay for doing what is right
How will they feel about speaking out when they are wronged?
Will seeing my experience, the ridicule, the anger, the rejection, the anguish, encourage them to stand up for what is right?
Or, will it teach them that victims should remain silent…forever?

I have tried to speak and people turn away
The words are too painful, too unbelievable
Too far out of the realm of understanding to fit neatly into their world
The words, alien and foreign, are rejected
Called fantasy, twisted bitterness, misunderstanding or worse
A thousand words and phrases draped over the one word that means the Most


Reprinted with permission from the author.  Copyright (c) 2001 Daniel C. Smith.  All rights reserved.




By  Mary Carol McGlone
The mangled old tree that hovered mid-center in the yard
Is still hauntingly the same
We played under its shade together making up silly
childish games
The barn in the distance, I imagined was mine as child
is so very clear in my mind
And the familiar feelings of fear as I came into view of
That dreaded white sign
The fun and the freedom in the warmth of the sun
each taking our turns on the swings
it always seemed to end far to soon;
as though against our will the bell would ring
I can still remember the rich earthen scent as we made our dream houses
shaped with the freshly fallen leaves
Only to find out days later our homes were scattered
Our dreams once again fallen victim to the breeze
I recall the excitement I felt while listening to the party lists
Name after name they would call, but mine I seemed to never hear
In the disappointing quiet I would imagine all the fun things the chosen would do
and in my mind it was as though I were there
Silent hours standing, sometimes kneeling single file, youth’s eternal dreams denied
Arms held out firm and straight, my heart within me sighs
I'll be a good girl daddy, please don’t leave me here
This is a such sad and empty place, and the walls alone know of my fears
Years swiftly fade, one giving way to another – memories with blank faces
I keep searching, grasping for traces
For I know that the deep dark memories that linger in the secret place of my mind
Hide far behind that Big White Sign
Our brief time of innocence stolen; precious childhood moments forever lost
What was its price, can someone please tell me what is its cost
We have all paid dearly, for the pain did not cease when the bruises faded far away
Can someone return to us the foundations of our wounded souls
For this is my hope, and for all, this is what I pray

© Mary Carol McGlone





By Susan Robertson

On darkest nights of deepest woes

Of tales as yet unsung;

There comes to me a different voice

A child's voice very young

She looks at me with saddened eyes

and in her hands she holds a box

But when I try to look within

Something makes me stop

My treasure box cries the child

For inside you'll find my life

Please you must not open it

It is fearful of the light

What secrets must this young child hide

What makes her weep in the night

I know this Box, I know it's use

For this box holds memories of child abuse

It doesn't matter where you run or hide

This box is always locked inside

Should you ever hear this young

child's voice

You must do your best to listen

and always remember every treasure box

does not hold only those things that glisten.

© Susan Robertson

If you would like to read excerpts from Susan's book concerning the death of a young boy named Mark Longale, please click here: Truth About Mark


The Essence of My Tears

By Mary Carol McGlone


All my dreams, my hopes and desires gone unheard by earthly ears

I lift them all up to you my Lord in the essence of my tears

All my wounds, my scars and my pain left untouched and no one cared

I lift them all up to you my Lord in the essence of my tears

The empty caress, the poison touch, the source of all my fears 

I lift them all up to you my Lord in the essence of my tears

All the tears that were never cried, that have never beheld the light of day

I give them all to you my Lord, please hear me when I pray

Those silent tears buried deep within far from even my knowing view

I give them all to you my Lord, create my heart anew

For I have heard there is a place where tears shall no longer be

And a time to come when all mankind shall rejoice in love and thee

© Mary Carol McGlone




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