I have pretended long, in loyalty.

I had a childhood hurt for five harsh years,

I let it wound my good fragility

And over decades I’ve shed many tears

And sometimes wished that I were wholly free

Of faith because it was to me all fears,

Unhappiness and, yes, grief for a part

That should be left untouched in childhood till

There have been many blows upon the heart.

I listened to the words within that still

Confessional. ‘You must not be a part

Of the communion tomorrow,’ Frail

I was and still a child although fifteen.

My only fault was large uncertainty

Of my faith’s tenets. I had not yet been

Close to grave sin. A dark shade stood between

Me and the altar. Gone was liberty

Yet absolution had just set me free.

The priest was twisted, sick. I felt no hate

For children think they cannot change such things

Or run from them. Of course it was too late

When later I could tell all this. Love sings

Now in my spirit but when black moods wait

For me I cannot launch them on light wings.

God, you you meant terror once. But maybe this

Brought me close to your mysteries. I knew of

Unjust suffering. Deciding this

I sometimes now am filled with boundless love

And gratitude from which I’ve power to build

Music, the poem and all they are witness of.

Elizabeth Jennings (1926-2001), A Childhood Horror.