What They Called Her

Tristan Robert Lange


Notice of absence from Tristan Robert Lange
Friends, I’m doing my best to keep up with comments. 😅 I’m still current on my own poems and first replies on others’ work, but this season has been a bit of a twister. Figured I’d drop a quick note so you don’t think I’ve vanished or gone flaky.
Read. Write. Rise. Realize. 🤘💀🖤
Men have long lorded their sex
Against the ones who birth them.
Religious refraction rendered—
Yea—faith became fatal facility.
 
Metastatic, humanitiy’s demons dine.
Acknowledgment leads to healing.
Grace is given to all who choose it.
Devotion does not find many friends
Against the currents of doubt.
Love shows itself true—never absent.
Every twisted name—every mockery—
Negates the very faith they claim.
Eternity’s eye remembers.
 
POET’S NOTE:
An acrostic Scorched Sunday poem. Part of my Scorched Strays collection. This poem confronts the distortion of identity through misnaming, exposing how faith has been bent and weaponized while truth remains…unforgotten.
 
© 2026 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
First published on tristanrobertlange.com, March 29, 2026.
 
Tittu
  • Author: Tristan Robert Lange (Offline Offline)
  • Published: April 5th, 2026 08:16
  • Comment from author about the poem: Did you know I also compose classical chamber music? My latest release, The Suffering Servant: A Meditation Cycle for Piano Trio, is coming soon under Appalachian Virtual Ensemble. Two movements are available to hear exclusively on my website. Preorders are now open. https://tristanrobertlange.com/2026/03/25/the-suffering-servant-pre-order-now-available/ ... Also, I’m now published in an anthology featuring authors from across the Poconos, PA. All proceeds benefit the Pocono Liars Club — a collective of authors and editors dedicated to supporting and mentoring local writers. Available in paperback and Kindle, please consider purchasing one and supporting a great cause. https://a.co/d/58uxM69
  • Category: Religion
  • Views: 6
  • Users favorite of this poem: Demar Desu - 德马尔·德苏
  • In collections: Scorched Strays.
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Comments +

Comments1

  • sorenbarrett

    Strong words my friend. Admonitions sorely heeded. Against the weak the strong show a threatening hand. If it were on the other foot it may be little different when the powerless are given power it is abused in the same manner. Is is something ancient in survival that breeds domination? In survival of the fittest there is little room for cooperation unless one looks to the bees or ants and even they fight other groups. A mother, source of our life, demeaned in our language as a mother fucker, a wife love our life a whore when suspected of infidelity or dressing to seductively in the presence of others. Not wearing a veil may be enough. We are a jealous and possessive lot with little compassion or thought for others around us. A lovely write Tristan forgive the rant.



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