the sentence of silence
so few dare to ponder
untold worlds so scarcely beheld
presumed to be something
altogether non-existent
if even regarded in any respect
a consequence foregone
not of their own doing
encountered, in most circumstances
thought only a burden
this, by the very ones
who had begotten their very existence
at best, ignored
at worst, and most typical, degraded
ridiculed
teased
bullied
harrassed
taunted
mocked
thought of as nothing
the list goes on
without end
as they are made to suffer
without further thought
taken only at face value
and that, of what merit?
living, breathing, feeling individuals
of infinite complexity
reduced to the confines
of our grave misperceptions
tucked away neatly in alternate circles
so that we might safely know not of their existence
shuffled away into quaint little busses
a vacuous vaunt to avail our insecurities
by insulting our peers
and them
were we ever thus made to withstand the affront of their presence
how callous and cruel could we possibly be?
and to dare think ourselves as being human
humanity begins in our wasteland of disregard
it is there where we will find
the base truth of our sympathy
empathy
compassion
these words offer nothing
but titular arrogance
ever so smitten
with our sculptures of charity
nary do any of us stand to comprehend
the scope of our blaringly blatant indiscretion
if such is the case
that even those closest related
are most guilty of all
in their failure to see
what their own eyes bear witness to
in its full scope
then what hope
if any
do we stand as a species?
our civilization
can only be gauged
by our treatment of those
not given a voice
subject to the mercy
of choices
made by those left to speak for them
and by this
i submit
our civility
is naught
but the grandest
of all our illusions
[image credit: Georges Barbier]
Max, or Not 
Freedom is only an illusion that we believe we are entitled to, we are not free, if you think of the meaning of freedom in relation to what being truly free is…besides, you can’t find the freedom, from outside of you, freedom must come from within…
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That is generally what is currently happening, in a lot of the “democratic” countries in the world right now, the countries are not “free”, the citizens just believe, that it’s a “free” country that they are, living in…
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I resonate to “our civilization
can only be gauged
by our treatment of those
not given a voice,”
A little puzzled, however, of the switches from our to they.
I like the clarity of “tucked away neatly in alternate circles
so that we might safely know not of their existence,” Does writing reve you up or relieve pressue? Or both?
Thanks for sharing.
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Thank you for your kind words, Nan. I use “our” in the sense of our society in general, and “they” being the voiceless ones, in this case, those developmentally disabled. I very recently lost a close family member who suffered from multiple diagnoses in the spectrum of developmental disabilities who also suffered physical disabilities as well. She also suffered from schizophrenia. Her tongue was enlarged which further interfered with her speech abilities, but despite her superficially apparent capabilities, I knew her to be highly intelligent with a highly nuanced understanding of deeply complex things in life. Her inability to fully engage in conversation would frustrate her to no end. People tend to presume so much upon seeing someone who, by physical appearance and superficial behavior would be considered solely by such parameters. Which is horribly tragic, as they have entire worlds to offer. often, apart from our own experience that we stand only to benefit from. She is now free from the burdens of her physical form, which gives me solace. Free to be heard and understood, and genuinely regarded by other forms of consciousness which she may encounter.
To answer your question, writing absolutely does both, as well as countless other functions which help me cope with the nonsensical insanity of life. i do tend to get riled up though. i’m somewhat emotionally reactive, as it were lol
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