You took children’s self esteem and laid darkness
over silent dreams. Some you called names
and jeered them to the ground. Others you
raped and laughed in the name of torturous fun.
That was no home, no place of learning, nah
a place of chains and gruesome heart burning.
Nobody cared, one might think God was blind.
Where was the help, a little sister raped
and a young lad beaten to death.
O eyes turned and silence begat tongues. A
big man with a mean heart, held a young girl
hostage while pocketing the green selling
her soul. A pig of disgust but everybody gave
this human beast their trust.
Lord, I weep to think of the pain. I cringe
knowing what those little girls and boys
sustained. Beatings on a regular basis.
Relentless daggers hurled and bellies screamed
in hunger.
Yes the rapes were many, but fear kept secrets
for many a year. Where is the justice, who
will stand accountable. No Angels worked at
the home for Colored Children, no fairness, no golden
rule.
What was the outcome, who went to jail? Did
human beasts pay their dues, or are they
walking in fraudulent shoes? Now you know
a little about “The Home for Colored Children”.
An acknowledgment now sustained, our Canadian
Government and the Home of abuse, together
poured a Blessing, O the warmest rain. Though
your scars will remain infinitely, perhaps thirty four
million dollars will shine a light at the end of a
dark road.
Written by: Melvina Germain
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About Danny Kemp
I was at work one sunny November day in 2006, stopped at a red traffic light when a van, driven incompetently, smashed into me. I was taken to St Thomas' Hospital and kept in for a while, but it was not only the physical injuries that I suffered from; it was also mental ones.
I had lost confidence in myself let alone those around me. The experts said that I had post-traumatic stress disorder, which I thought only the military or emergency personnel suffered from. On good days, I attempted to go to work, sometimes I even made it through Blackwell Tunnel only to hear, or see, something that made me jump out of my skin and that's when the anxiety attacks would start.
I told my wife that I was okay and going regularly, but I wasn't. I could not cope with life and thought about ending it.
Somehow or other with the help of my wife and medical professionals, I managed to survive and ever so slowly rebuild my self-esteem.
It took almost four years to fully recover, but it was during those dark depressive days that I began to write.
My very first story, Look Both Ways, Then Look Behind, found a literary agent but not a publisher. He told me that I had a talent, raw, but nevertheless, it was there. His advice was to write another story and that I'm delighted to say, I did.
The success of that debut novel, The Desolate Garden, was down to sheer hard work, luck, and of course, meeting a film producer.
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It’s a powerful poem. Will stay with me for ….
SO Done..Most definitely…So Sad a Story—A Great Write..’God Bless All’..Love Pastor Shirley ann shaw~