"Why Didn’t You Come Sooner?"

Carole Stolz

Twenty seven million how can it be?

27 million today are not free.

Taken as prisoners beaten, abused

Three quarters in the sex trade so horribly used.

Many of them children, raped daily by men.

treated as animals, many still under ten.

Have you a daughter, or niece or a wife?

How would you like them to fear for their life?

Tied to a bed

Eyes straight ahead

Sees the tormentor’s face

Yet another disgrace

As he forces his way deep into her soul.

thrusting and thrusting through her tightly stretched hole

ripping, mutilating, no mercy in sight

 - why bother repelling, why put up a fight?

And so she endures it, just empties her head.

as he empties his lusts in her body long dead

and she lies unresponsive on the blood stained bed.

No hope in the future no hope for today.

No comfort in laughter no idea how to play

- so as salvation arrives on one fine day

and the rescuer promises to carry her away

from the hell she has suffered, she manages to say :

„Why didn’t you come sooner - Why did you delay?“

Just Death

Carole Stolz

She never knew love, being sold as a child

into the sex trade. By grown men defiled

and used as an object of greed and of lust,

Pain was her teacher, not something she’d read,

she was wise beyond words but not in her head.

Her survival instinct had shown her in bed

that the next man might maim her or kill her instead

of using her body in ways it might please

a sick minded human with venereal disease

who asserts himself on her and forces her to her knees.

no matter I’m innocent and don’t even know how

I was kidnapped by evil ones, sold like a cow.

My virtue gone from me no hope of a vow

or a life with a husband where I no longer cower,

cornered and frightened as he uses his power

to force me to do things no nightmare would hold.

No hope of freedom or of becoming old

No hope of deliverance since that day I was sold

No hope of a life where my heart is not cold

What hope of escape? 

.................Just death.

The Outsider

Carole Stolz

Include means two, a Me and a You.

There’s so much to do and yet so few

who care for the foreigner the one outside!

Condemned to poverty as yet un-tried.

No money and lonely, no status, not free

Yet no worse a person than a you or a me.

His crime? His birth in a different land

No fault of his own or another’s hand.

His sin? That his speech is a rhythm unknown

and not that of the landsmen of his new „home“.

Even his skin has a different hue –

his habits, traditions are all different to you.

So how much longer will we hold him restrained?

Is it not enough that he came to us pained?

What is then of mercy, forgiveness and love?

Why do we judge harsher than our Lord God above?

Then rise from your slumber and join in the fight.

Stand up and cry out for that which is right.

If you call yourself good or benevolent or kind

Then shake off the indifference that’s rendering you blind.

Good People, Doing Nothing

Carole Stolz 
You must be alive

in order to grow.

but the reverse is true

-       is it not so?

That in order to grow,

we MUST be alive

whether the way appears easy

or we struggle and strive.

We’ve lost already

if we just stand still.

We don’t need to die

or be terribly ill.

-       just do nothing

if you can.

No passion or fire.

No joy or élan.

Nothing that grips you

in the wee small hours,

nor fills you up

with inexplicable powers.

Good people doing nothing

-       it’s such a waste

So busy with gadgets

and TV and haste.

Rushing to rush in.

Pushing to push out.

„Get out of my way!“

you’ll oft hear them shout.

But don’t question too deeply.

Don’t ask „What’s the quest?“

Too busy to think

and too tired to rest.

Just fill up their days

with appointments and toys

with empty illusions

and purposeless noise.

And they must have been somewhere

but no one knows where they went

as they fought up the ladder

but were never content.

So they die ...out of boredom

- a life emptily spent

on trinkets and houses

-       their lifetime's intent.

Time is Running Out (of Me)

I have decided to post poems I write on my BLOG.
Here are a few I wrote last week. 

Time is Running Out (of me)

Carole Stolz 

Time is running out,

yes it’s running out of me

Like an old and leaky sand clock

Whose sand is running free

Leaving empty memories

of where it used to be.

So search out what your dreams are

for the day is nearly spent.

Your must fill it with your passion

           or you’ll wonder where it went.

Yes, find out what your dreams are

What sparks the hidden fire.

Where passion , love and hope

Create intentional desire.

Some they will reach eighty.

And some reach only five,

And some they do each ninety six

... but never were alive.

The time is running out you see,

It’s running out of you.

And whether five or eighty

There is nothing you can do.

The sand it keeps on trickling

Like the seconds on the clock

And once the tick has passed you by

It’s followed by the tock.

You’re walking, running, dancing

And the sand goes on and on.

You are singing, smiling, crying

And then suddenly, you’re g...