Poor Unselfish Child

What is martyrdom
When self-sacrifice
And giving all
Seem so far from
Our minds.
It's hardly burning at the stake
For all to see, for all their sakes.
The beauty of the modern martyr
Lies in their silence,
Not their screams to God,
And not in burning,
But smouldering, unnoticed,
Till all traces of fire and
Spirit and hope have been
Charred away,
And they are left empty.
They live and die
In blissful silence.
They barely ever say
A word,
And rarely are they
Words of truth.
Simple words like
"I'm fine",
Strung together out of habit.
And no one gives a
Second thought…
None whatsoever.
At least, not until
The tears fall with the rain,
And some godforsaken priest
Reads someone else's
Empty words…
A pity they weren't said
When they could have made a difference.