In the far corner lay
her frumpled boots,
a monument to humanity's hidden truths.
Daily burdens of mental, physical abuse,
the toll mounting without allay
bygone fears kept at bay
  years of growth wither untold
crumpled underfoot by inhuman lecherous controls.
nethered by these leathered souls.


A vice’s grip is a cowardly clasp.
winds change, fogs lifts, grief finds strength in the past,
Dismay, now the torturers sheaf.  
Confidence steps forth empathized by another’s sorrow
World unites with each behold,
of leched acts that lurked in the shadows
exposed by truth in the dawn of each tomorrow.