Wounded as a child, some vow
To never pass it along.
And others, innocently think
They can make it acceptable
If they reenact the scene over and over
Until its darkness becomes white.
It never does.
If the wounded pass the deed along
It’s not so bad or evil.
In some ways, it felt good.
That has to make it right.
They cling to that good moment.
That wasn’t bad or evil.
But it was.
Most of us don’t think.
We just do without thinking.
To find the positive in the horror.
Then wonder why the Villagers
Come after us
With righteous torches
Burning.
To forgive it is to lessen the heroics
Of those who refuse to pass it on.
The others are not villains
But must be stopped
For their sakes and for ours.
And especially our children.
Stop.
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