His Child… Whose Child… Our Child… Poem by Betty Jo Hilger

Many times ago…
Many seasons past…
When he was small…
They let him fall…
In stone his heart was cast…

Like waste thrown to the curb
Unrecognized, unheard
A scream within his soul
Proclaimed his life unwhole
Unloved and lacking
Worth…

Questions and understanding
Are the venue of the aged
Reasons, explanations, excusing inhumane
Actions, valueless to truth
The harsh reality of today
Within his heart burns
Each moment…

Painted by those early breaths
His world lit dimly is unwilling
To allow the light of love within the door

It isn’t real…
It’s just a lie…

Words cannot erase the facts
That affection is a fiction…
Connection is confusion…
Protection is affliction…
And the firm foundation of which he’s heard
Is naught but a flimsy film of paint obscuring
What is real…

Alone
He has built a store
A silent place of safety
Where naught is heard
Naught occurs
Emotionless
And life is but an imitation of scenes
Misunderstood…