What if your silence was mistaken for consent, and your faith the only place left to hide?
My blood spilled over the descending sun,
where the Celtic Sea kissed the golden sands.
The world’s eyes could not see what he had done;
in the dark, I wept while he bound my hands.
While you danced and made merry, you didn’t see;
beneath his power no one heard my cries.
No one came to save me or set me free;
in the dark, I wept while life closed its eyes.
My kin stood by, watched me break, watched me cry;
my terrified stare fixed the blood-stained moon.
With each thrust, I prayed God would let me die;
in the dark, I heard the song of my doom.
In the hands of Christ, I felt my child wane:
forgive me ’cause I let him leave his mark.
Prayed God would deliver me from the pain,
heal my black heart and free me from the dark.
—H, beneath the blood-stained moon
