Don't want to go, don't want to leave ..
Don't want to hurt or bleed or grieve!
I want my home to be my place -
As familiar as the reflection of my face.
Yet in the mirror - I see pain -
Weary fear. Memories remain
Of brutality - of sanity lost ..
Far too enormous to count the cost!
Atrocities committed - but no one heard .
No one printed the written word.
Instead our home becomes our cell
And our heritage becomes our hell!
© Pam Crowther
9th August 2002