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If you are a survivor, please be careful in reading the information compiled here. It is impossible to give information on ritual abuse, and about people's opinions about ritual abuse, in a way that is not upsetting and/or triggering. Only you know how much is wise to read, and how much information you can absorb at one time.

Poems by Lily


I miss you
and the cozy ways
and younger days
of welcoming fireplaces
tingling toes
and soggy shoelaces
and matted mittens
that dripped and rattled

foggy windowpanes
a blustery view
as I watched you
through a day
of snow chores
that wern't yours
but mine
left for another
day that never comes

chocolate mugs of happy
made us warm and sappy
our eyes were twinkling
like candle glow
in a close the door breeze
we snuggled
as if tomorrow
would never come

aimless crunching snow walks
where puffy flakes would float
and rest
on grateful humans
having talks
about the weather
and being together
in a winter wonderland
holding hands

Tomb Raider

TV, computers, faxes, and phones,
seducing the innocent,
right in their homes.

Animals, poetry, nature, and sleep,
refreshing our souls,
because deep calls to deep.

Cycles of circles and Mandlebrot Set,
you can't wake a dreamer,
who hasn't slept yet.

Riddles hold messages,
prisms of thought,
questions hold answers the dreamers forgot.

The mystery you're living,
is all in your head,
the secret's in knowing you're already dead.


Nothing can stop all these terrible things
a bird without feathers, or vision, or wings

a motherless daughter
grows up to be cold

a fatherless son
is afraid to be bold

and sadly
the handicapped bird hops and sings

but nothing can stop
all these terrible things


Well her freedom came too late,
she cried for love or heaven . . .
A zombie at forty-eight,
she died at forty-seven.


the silence is so dark
and I can hear the pain
of one voice crying in the wilderness

(it's an echo)

an ovarian storm is brewing
but I don't have a paincoat
there's nothing I can do


Yesterday, she looked for a way,
in a flood of blood,
to seize the day.

There was nothing to hold on to, anyway,
in a flood of blood,
she couldn't pray.

Heard angels say, she drowned that day,
in a flood of blood,
which was the way,
the demons drained her soul away,
with ever increasing sorrow . . .

Despair soon led her faith astray,
in a flood of blood,
and day by day,
accepting that she couldn't stay,
she fell,
and lost tomorrow.


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