Screams of the Past

Do you hear the whispers, 

The screams of the past? 

Their fists pound against my 

Skull, rhythmically;

First softly then harder and harder. 

They moan, their chains ruffle 

As they throw their bodies against 

One another—weeping 

Their eyes overflow with tears. 

Oh Father, where art thou? 

Thousands of voices echoing,

Water dripping off stone. 

Gnawing at dry, cracked knuckles 

With teeth like arrows. 

Swallow. 

Pink,

White,

Light Blue.

Iridescent. 

You. 

Heads bang against the concrete 

Over and over 

Matted hair, dried blood, and senseless smiles. 

White dresses, veiled like a bride.

You take the Holy Sacrament

The stale bread and the bitter wine. 

Knees bruised from prayer. 

Do you hear the whispers, 

The screams of the past?