Scars on My Back

There is nothing holy to it

Whipping self for some mistake

So then why do many do it

That the guilt somehow might break?

It is men who heap the censure

It is men who add the weight

And they never will release it

For they feed on shame and hate.

And we call them our community

And we seek to please and play

While a Mercy and a Kindness

Waits beside for break of Day.

He had suffered all their hatred

He had hung upon a Tree

And was tempted by each torment

That might fetter you or me.

His the voice alone to follow

With no condemnation heard

Hear the cage door swinging open

Rise to new skies little bird!

Doug Blair, Waterloo, ON

purple finch wears the royal colour, singing whole-heartedly

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