From the day we are born
our innocence’s replaced,
by the sins of our fathers,
which we lived and retraced,
on a path of learned experience
we accepted as the norm,
as we’re moulded none too gently,
without realizing the harm.
And we touch each other daily
with the wounds that deeply bleed,
sometimes hear a warning echo,
yet continue without heed,
in the perfect life we've woven
with the thread of deep denial,
all the time the heap gets bigger,
as the guilt we now stockpile.
Yet the circle needn't close,
you can write an ending new,
treat the demons to a gathering
with the truth to them undo,
lest you wonder in the dark hours
of a moonless night alone,
why the children joined the circle,
for the sins that we now own.
