Silent cries

Postulant gleanings, smugly smother;

themselves, recused of all but shame,

and, grinning, welcoming all others

to lust and pander to the same.


Their shriveled hands with guilty prints

have satisfied their share of grasping

little ones so frightened, whence

they licks their lips, while one’s left gasping.


Forced to lie and to pretend

that all is well in home and pew,

but soap can ne’er these stains amend

nor memories of hope renew.


Cry out to he whose son was pricked

by lords and teachers of the cloth,

his first-fruits life no parlor trick

his vassals, now are we, betrothed.


When turns the tide and justice breathes

its wind of life and sanctity,

these little ones so bruised, relieved

shall live, their due reward, to see.

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