My friend's Father,
Who's just that,
Has a Papa Francis.
And her entire congregated family
Won't acknowledge her
Very existence.
How can she communicate.
There's a crack in the crucifix,
And it's splitting, running up the wood,
Past the cruciform,
To the Head.

Forgive me father,
for I am Sin
and I am here
to take you in.

Its been thirty years
since my last confession,
but mere moments
since your last transgression.

and though you thought
all had gone unseen,
your hands and soul  
remain unclean.

You took
our Father's Sacred Trust,
and through it proclaimed
yourself as just.

And, while children,
yes, they will believe,
the eyes of mine
you can't deceive!

I know what you did
and you know to who,
and I'll not let you
draw the curtain through.

Your crimes,
these I will expose;
For my friend,
the victim no one knows.

No one knows him,
because he's dead.
because of you.
Because he bled.

You see,
he thought he
was just a boy.
Not some secret to destroy.

So,
it didn't make sense to him to live,
because of what you said
and what you did.

But, don't you ever believe
that Our Lord allows
men like you to break these vows,
and then disclaim
and then rebuke
a boy who dared to speak the truth.

You watched as a child sank and died
and to the Courts, how loudly you denied.

But,
don't believe that I am ever fooled,
and my vengeance will not be overruled.

For I am Sin,
and I don't care how much you cry.
**My Hell awaits the day you die.

We never really know
What happens in a person’s home.
We can’t really know
What happens when they’re alone.
It’s every block and street
Even from those we trust to lead.
Too often parents turn
And simply refuse to even heed.

Crying and waiting for the rainbow
After seasons of so much rain.
It’s a heartbreak one must suffer
Waiting the rainbow to come again.

Not one in a million
There are far too many suffering
Not one in a thousand
Even if parents don’t know a thing.
Not one in a hundred
That is only one small percent.
They are the victims
And they never gave their consent.

Crying and waiting for the rainbow
After seasons of so much rain.
It’s a heartbreak one must suffer
Waiting the rainbow to come again.

Many think it’s a seldom thing
Yet it is too large a fraction of the whole
Robbing the children of youth
And taking away the basis of their soul.
They don’t want to admit it
But if they care about them, they must
Because abusing children is
A vile way to steal from them their trust.

Crying and waiting for the rainbow
After seasons of so much rain.
It’s a heartbreak one must suffer
Waiting the rainbow to come again.

Brian Patrick

Tall, knowledgeable, caring, jovial and holy
Respected by many; exalted by others
His road – the road that should be taken
Irish of course, but not of the old sod

The unattainable, becomes at once, attainable
Your reckoning lightened by his words
The Black Robe is a tale to be told by all who believe
Believers they may be, but not for ease of living

He, The Black Robe, beckons you to seek his countenance
Consolation is offered within the folds of his robes
You accept the gift without hesitation of belief
Your belief in the blood sacrifice of the unbelievable

The comfort of refuse offered by The Cassock
Truly blackens with the deceit of the unholy
All too friendly for men and boys
The betrayal all too familiar for me