The Untold

Pews of hard stone, ingrained cedar benches,
With a touch of the ancient Rome and Greece.
Seeing them here, at once, my heart wrenches,
And the pain inside refuses to cease.
A veil that is torn in many places,
The membrane conceals the children's faces,
The tale unborn, a sign of dead races,
And in time I reel, my heart now paces.
Memorandums of old are similar
To what I now face; that you indeed were
Is a pain to my heart, and I cannot,
Though I try, at all part from what I bought
Most dearly, what I gave up for freedom;
To see this again strikes me blind and dumb.

                                The Untold, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012