There's No Excuse
So many lives are tragic stories, chapters of misery,
Comprised of page after page of abuse, shared reluctantly.
Yes, accounts of spouse abuse, child abuse, that never should be,
For each home should be a safe haven for the family.
Most of the stories though, that speak of such ill, will go unheard,
Never reaching the book stores, where one’s heart aches at each word.
Yes, where one reads of heartbreak that many don’t overcome,
And even worse, those suicides that end the lives of some.
Unless we’ve suffered the same, we really can’t understand
The depth of sorrow and pain that many life seems to hand.
Yes, that darkness that envelops, those scars where cuts went deep,
That so many robs of happiness, success, health and sleep.
Worryingly, even more are joining the ranks of those
Who’ve received such ill-treatment -- physical or mental blows.
And there seems no end to it, for more and more cries are heard
Tearfully recounting things that should never have occurred.
Many suffer in silence such evil abominations,
Held captive by fear, circumstances, intimidations.
For many, help seems far away, a dream that won’t come true,
Because of acts of cruelty behind closed doors, out of view.
Yes, so many lives are tragic stories that won’t be read,
Chapters of misery, pages stained with tears that victims shed.
Yes, words that won’t be written, but a great deal could convey,
Due to someone’s selfishness; seeing someone else as prey.
And ever has it been that within each society,
There are opportunists who take advantage wrongfully.
But whether random or planned, short in duration or long,
Any manner of cruelty, abuse, is plain WRONG! WRONG! WRONG!
By Lance Landall
Helping Hands And Loving Arms
In this sad old world of ours, where hurt, pain and darkness stalk the land, and enemies are varied and many,
There’s nothing like those helping hands and loving arms — in other words, ears that truly hear, eyes that truly see.
But how rare such are, leaving so many to wash up on life’s uncaring shores, or to smash on callous rocks,
Victims of the coldness and indifference that pervades this Earth, and that strangles, smothers, thumps, shakes or mocks.
Thus, heartache flows like a swollen river, one linked to a turbulent, restless and frightening sea,
Where human shipwrecks lie prostrate on its murky floor, and they, encrusted with wounds that gape with acts of cruelty.
This after having been dragged down that river, tossed about like broken branches and uprooted shrubbery,
Victims of wild, drenching, stormy weather, unleashed by those with no conscience, or simply behaving selfishly.
And so it goes; that scrap-heap in life growing higher and wider, where others are dumped insensitively,
Their presence barely noticed, or only when it suits, and they, thus neglected, shunned or misused, shamefully.
Yes, just the fodder and playthings of those who live for themselves, those who have no heart, or some wicked agenda,
In other words, anyone who in someway chooses that path and mentality that fouls the offender.
Oh, if only helping hands and loving arms represented humanity — that is, rather than the few,
They being, those who look beyond themselves, and a better, brighter world for all desire to see, and thus pursue.
Those who know that only love should dwell within each heart, and nobleness within the mind — their deeds pure and true,
And also aware that any other way just leads to injury, and in time, a dead-end avenue.
Do you have helping hands and loving arms?
By Lance Landall
