A poem about the abuse that went on in the Industrial Schools in Ireland in the 1940s, 50s and 60s.
The Month was November the Year 1949
In a grey yard huddled many boys,
Heads held low from fear and inner misery.
Amongst them I hunched found guilty of a crime,
No mum or dad to love or care for me.
It was there I became a number and soon learned to run to the call,
Slowly my birth name was allowed to become
A fading memory on a courtroom wall!
Reading and writing I did quiet well.
But why had each day to be a living hell?
I felt so undignified with my clothes held low,
As that Big Leather Strap gradually grounded me to the floor.
I cried out in silence 'Please God, don't let the tears flow'
But my encouraging Spirit responded
'Hang in there lad, you have the willpower to endure a lot more'
That harsh voice still sends quivering shivers up alone my spine
As I recall him count the lashes right up to nine!
Each night I prayed,
Why God why me?
I have tried so hard to please Thee,
I have learned to learn well
Even endure the duties of a man.
To night please God, don't let it be Me!
As I prayed with hands clasped tight
Is it too much tonight to let me lie low?
When that Handle turns on that Great Door!
With sprat like muscles so weak
Can I really endure much more!
At the age of sixteen
They claimed I was free.
Saying 'they have no further use of me'
Free to roam and search the world
Looking for ways to become a man.
Struggling to recover my lost identity!
Dear God, I have one last request
Please be my Guide and stay close by my side,
For the only crime I was guilty of: -
Is that I had nobody to love me when I was a child!
How could it have happened? I hear people say,
Little kids marked by the crimes of heartless men!
Where were the Good Ones when those kids cried out!
But were there really any Good Ones I still try to puzzle out?
For each and every one of them just stood by,
Hearing and listening to the echoes of our screams and cries!
Years later I heard I was labeled one of the 'Specials'
A stamp that embodied me with their mystic satanic rituals!
Enforcing me to abide by my measure,
As they engulfed themselves in their bodily pleasures!
Haunting memories of bread and dripping
Still engraved in my gut!
As I live my life reclaiming A Life's Stolen Treasure: -
My Childhood Dignity.
by chris daniel
Poetry by chris daniel
Read 260 times
Written on 2007-01-08 at 21:08
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A Life's Stolen Treasure
The Month was November the Year 1949
In a grey yard huddled many boys,
Heads held low from fear and inner misery.
Amongst them I hunched found guilty of a crime,
No mum or dad to love or care for me.
It was there I became a number and soon learned to run to the call,
Slowly my birth name was allowed to become
A fading memory on a courtroom wall!
Reading and writing I did quiet well.
But why had each day to be a living hell?
I felt so undignified with my clothes held low,
As that Big Leather Strap gradually grounded me to the floor.
I cried out in silence 'Please God, don't let the tears flow'
But my encouraging Spirit responded
'Hang in there lad, you have the willpower to endure a lot more'
That harsh voice still sends quivering shivers up alone my spine
As I recall him count the lashes right up to nine!
Each night I prayed,
Why God why me?
I have tried so hard to please Thee,
I have learned to learn well
Even endure the duties of a man.
To night please God, don't let it be Me!
As I prayed with hands clasped tight
Is it too much tonight to let me lie low?
When that Handle turns on that Great Door!
With sprat like muscles so weak
Can I really endure much more!
At the age of sixteen
They claimed I was free.
Saying 'they have no further use of me'
Free to roam and search the world
Looking for ways to become a man.
Struggling to recover my lost identity!
Dear God, I have one last request
Please be my Guide and stay close by my side,
For the only crime I was guilty of: -
Is that I had nobody to love me when I was a child!
How could it have happened? I hear people say,
Little kids marked by the crimes of heartless men!
Where were the Good Ones when those kids cried out!
But were there really any Good Ones I still try to puzzle out?
For each and every one of them just stood by,
Hearing and listening to the echoes of our screams and cries!
Years later I heard I was labeled one of the 'Specials'
A stamp that embodied me with their mystic satanic rituals!
Enforcing me to abide by my measure,
As they engulfed themselves in their bodily pleasures!
Haunting memories of bread and dripping
Still engraved in my gut!
As I live my life reclaiming A Life's Stolen Treasure: -
My Childhood Dignity.
by chris daniel
Poetry by chris daniel
Read 260 times
Written on 2007-01-08 at 21:08
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
