Remember, each family is like a nation
in a child’s reality and imagination.
No one remembers and no one tells
national secrets patriots know too well.
Fear constructs silent monuments of doubt,
red flags against telling, or you’ll be cast out.

The need for love revises the grief and pain,
and patriots are prisoners, protesting in vain.
Daily life goes on, appearances being mundane.
There are no safe places in this dangerous domain.
Wounds go untreated, beneath bandages and waste.
Little patriots dream and plan for future escapes.

No one remembers, no one tells
national secrets patriots know too well.
Molesters are traitors who invade their own troops, and
respond as if betrayed when all comes home to roost.
Perpetrators persist, imagining their deeds go unseen,
while we live on a universal projection screen.

Memories become triggered sensations,
without full meaning or true explanations,
justifying emotional and physical defenses, like
toughness and strength, belying frightened tenderness.
As adults, little patriots struggle to connect the dots,
co-creating lives with betrayal and exploitation plots.
Fear, hurt and low self-worth are the causal roots
of occupational dramas and low integrity pursuits.

No one remembers, no one tells
national secrets patriots know too well—
Until one day, we meet the right catalytic force;
turning memory’s sensations into flashes of light,
showing the course of relations repeating these plights.


Then someone remembers, someone tells,
helping our lineages heal and begin to live well.
For there are no dark places that go forever unseen,
while we live on a universal projection screen.

So, now we remember and now we tell.
Now we forgive ourselves and others as well.
We restore our self-worth and remove our armor,
no longer drawing perpetrators to replay these traumas.

Now we remember and now we tell.
Now we start over, learning to love ourselves.
We start by remembering why we were truly born,
what we agreed to do this time and the promises sworn.

We remember that Creation is before the womb,
that Creative Intelligence never dies or stays in a tomb.
We remember that any wound received can be healed.
We’re light arranged in flesh, branded with Creator’s Seal.

Learning to love the self is a worthy pursuit.
Survivors thrive in new soil, growing new roots.

Copyright 2005. Darya Funches, Ed.D.