This is the house

This is the house that Jean built.

This is the whip

That lay in the house that Jean built.

This is the hand

That wielded the whip

That lay in the house that Jean built.

These are the lips

That shielded the hand

That wielded the whip

That lay in the house that Jean built.

This is the fear

That stilled the lips

That shielded the hand

That wielded the whip

That lay in the house that Jean built.

This is the wound all welted and worn

That yielded to fear

That stilled the lips

That shielded the hand

That wielded the whip

That lay in the house that Jean built.

This is the maiden all forlorn

That obeyed the wound all welted and worn  

That yielded to fear

That stilled the lips

That shielded the hand

That wielded the whip

That lay in the house that Jean built.

These are the lies all twisted and torn

That flayed the maiden all forlorn  

That obeyed the wound all welted and worn

That yielded to fear

That stilled the lips

That shielded the hand

That wielded the whip

That lay in the house that Jean built.

These are the voices of judgment and scorn

That spoke the lies all twisted and torn

That flayed the maiden all forlorn

That obeyed the wound all welted and worn

That yielded to fear

That stilled the lips

That shielded the hand

That wielded the whip

That lay in the house that Jean built.

This is the priest that hypocrisy spawned  

That provoked the voices of judgment and scorn

That spoke the lies all twisted and torn

That flayed the maiden all forlorn

That obeyed the wound all welted and worn

That yielded to fear

That stilled the lips

That shielded the hand

That wielded the whip

That lay in the house that Jean built.

This is the mother whose love was withdrawn

That fawned at the priest that hypocrisy spawned

That provoked the voices of judgment and scorn

That spoke the lies all twisted and torn

That flayed the maiden all forlorn

That obeyed the wound all welted and worn

That yielded to fear

That stilled the lips

That shielded the hand

That wielded the whip

That lay in the house that Jean built.

Voici la narcisse that grew the thorns

That poisoned the mother whose love was withdrawn

That fawned at the priest that hypocrisy spawned

That provoked the voices of judgment and scorn

That spoke the lies all twisted and torn

That flayed the maiden all forlorn

That obeyed the wound all welted and worn

That yielded to fear

That stilled the lips

That shielded the hand

That wielded the whip

That lay in the house that Jean built.

You are the reader whose eyes are now sworn

To witness the silence of violence borne

That voices the words of innocence mourned

That are carved by the pen with which courage is born

That writes with the ink from which healing is drawn

That flows on the page on which freedom is formed

That honours the scars of suffering transformed

That adorn the woman no longer forlorn

That chooses the love enfolding and warm

That unbinds the shame

That unties the pain

That was lashed to the stick – – –              

the crudely made whip –

stinging with spite –

a silencing scourge –

swinging to strike –

stifling secrets –

hiding from sight –

This is the truth

That lay in the house that Jean built.