Trauma

There is no beginning,
When it comes to trauma,
It runs like veins through the generations,
To daughter from mamma,

To nation from the nation before that,
Before the apple's bit,
It unlocks our minds to what's really there,
After consciousness has got hold of it,

Each time it visits our lived existence,
It is like a fresh bruise,
The blood rises up, just under our flesh,
Reminding us there's someone to accuse,

Of all our hurts,
From time immemoryal,
So we lash out because of what's inside,
Ensuring that the mark will never heal.