The Cold Institution

This one has been sitting, out of action for a while. Let's give it a new lease of life.

The Cold Institution.

I still recall the harsh, unblinking light,
The laughter gone, the corridors made bare;
The endless ends when help was out of sight,
The bowed-down heads that learned to breathe in fear.

I entered full of hope, alive with flame,
And crossed those doors in trust, intact, and whole;
Too soon the ache, the terror, dulling shame
Crept fast, yet could not fully take my soul.

I’ve faced far worse than ignorant men like these,
Yet scars remain where cruelty held sway;
I fled, still marked, but claimed my right to breathe,
Escaped the cold, punitive display.

Their voices blamed me — don’t survivors know
That wounds may heal while injustice stays?
Still I will stand, remember, watch it go,
This brittle rule, this barren, joyless maze.

For kinder things will rise to take its place;
I’ll claim the aim I carried through that door.
Their arrogance will fail, their power waste,
While I endure — and stand, and am, and more.

Dedicated to the survivors of the schools and a certain cold institution of which I'm a survivor. 

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