Yet they Slept
by Leslie Huron
Death tolls from the pages lept.
Yet they slept.
Yet they slept
Not the disease –
that’s not it,
hardly a bit.
Higher and higher the injuries crept.
Yet they slept.
Yet they slept.
Not from the infection.
From the power plays,
The lonely days.
The lies continued to be
imperfect.
Yet they slept.
Yet they slept.
Powerless, defenceless.
To see their loved ones again,
arm sleeves rolled.
The caregiving inept.
Yet they slept.
Yet they slept.
Later, their eyes rolled.
Final stories untold.
Sent alone into the cold.
Humanity deficit.
Yet they slept.
Yet they slept.
Point of inflection.
Constant deflection.
Disinformation nation.
Yet they slept.
Yet they slept.
Choose truth over sleep.
Lest you weep.
Lest you weep.
2021 Copyright.
Creative Commons licensing applies.
Inspired by and dedicated to Dr. Vernon Coleman, The “ Old Man In a Chair”.
Dr. Coleman is a journalist (UK – Sun, Daily Star, Sunday Correspondent, The People), broadcaster and doctor.
Also dedicated to my beloved father who passed away alone in a ‘care’ home in late 2020, with family begging at the door to be let in.
He died of COVID Cruelties.
He was also an old man in a chair. He’s in Heaven now.
Dr. Vernon Coleman – inspiration
Dr. Vernon:
…Thank you.
Dad: …Thank you. I miss you.
I’m sorry. I love you.
Father in Heaven:
Thank you.
Please have mercy.
In Jesus’ name we ask.
Amen
Love is the Cure.
Please. If you believe. Spread the word.
Things are going badly in Canada, to this day, in this time of serious spiritual warfare, mainly
because many people still just go along to get along. I pray this poem touches even one person
enough to save them.
***
Dr. Vernon Coleman
The poem “Yet They Slept”, is inspired by and dedicated to Dr. Vernon Coleman, who calls himself“An Old Man In a Chair”. Dr. Coleman is a journalist (UK – Sun, Daily Star, Sunday Correspondent, The People), broadcaster and doctor.
ref: https://www.vernoncoleman.com/main.htm
I wrote “Yet They Slept” in 2021 after watching Dr. Coleman’s powerful video “Doctors and Nurses Giving the Covid-19 Vaccine Will Be Tried as War Criminals”
ref: https://onevsp.com/watch/7tNEBnZogbdlEXu
(approx 15 minutes).
In the video, he starts out on fire with his voice raised. He slams MP David Lammy in Britain for endorsing the V. He reads out headline after headline about Vdeaths. He calls out to us all: “This is genocide. When is the world going to wake up?” He calls for inquests by coroners on every death within 28 days of a V, but also realizes it won’t be done. Then he stops, unable to talk, tries to compose himself, swears at Lammy, breaks down, and starts weeping openly.
He asks for people to follow his friends: Colin Baron: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCNEr_Ux8OOkSDSB_jAwfQtQ; The Light Paper https://thelightpaper.co.uk/; Richie Allen’s Radio Show https://richieallen.co.uk/.
I had never seen Dr. Coleman as distraught as he was in this video. This sharp-witted, delightfully articulate “Old Man In a Chair” had done all he knew how to do, including losing his credibility and his reputation, in order to wake people up and prevent deaths. When I watched Dr. Coleman lose his usual dignified and staunchly British composure, I truly appreciated how he felt.
That is how I felt the weekend I worked feverishly day and night, gnashing through the first dump of VAERS data to create analytical spreadsheets. My horror increased as I realized how the elderly living beings—real humans—were being compelled to be Vd, and how those dear people were dying within hours or days. Many of them died at Christmas time.
What horrified me especially was how it was being done to trusting (and often helpless) residents in care homes, and how all the reported deaths in VAERS had been recorded as being from such causes as ‘heart attack’, ‘natural causes’, and other such explanations, but not from the V. As the truth exposed by the data blew open under my fingertips, I felt I had to get the word out. I sent my findings to several media influencers and podcasters, advocacy groups, and group emails. I did the same with Dr. Vernon Coleman’s speech and the poem I wrote after watching it.
Now, I wonder if I bared my soul to controlled opposition and bad actors/operators. Oops. I didn’t know then what I know now. I am glad I sent the poem, even if many people despised me for doing so, and even if I’m on multiple lists for future Gulags, which might explain why I was ‘randomly’ selected and my luggage was searched by airport security both ways when I travelled recently.
Short aside—In all the years (decades) I’ve travelled, that has only happened one other time. When I sent the poem and Dr. Vernon Coleman’s video link (now de-platformed) to everyone I could, I begged them to please get our elderly parents out of care, or find a way to prevent their demise. I begged them not to get it and not to allow anyone they could reach with this info to get it. Not under any circumstances. I begged people who weren’t even speaking to me, including my family at the time, to research “informed consent” and urged them to ask themselves if they really know what they were getting into after learning about informed consent. I begged them to say “No”.
Some still won’t speak to me, but I love and forgive them. I realize now that they might not ever wake up, and I want to love them until the end, regardless. The most healing words in healing some relationships were: “I love you and I forgive you. I’m not going to let this divide us.” I pleaded with everyone that if they didn’t believe me or Dr. Coleman, then to please at least do some homework and learn for themselves versus blindly trusting the establishment.
I addressed those caregivers who weren’t ‘inept’ and were fighting this evil, letting them know the use of that word in this poem wasn’t aimed at them. It was aimed at certain ‘caregivers’ that I and others in my circles had encountered—caregivers who delivered the “unspeakable cruelties” Dad alluded to. I entreated everyone to please, if they believed, spread the word. I realize now there was nothing I could have done to wake them up, but I don’t regret trying. Here we are three years later, and the poem still applies. It might even be more applicable today than it was then.
What next? As Dr. Coleman says at the end of all of his hundreds of well-researched, cleverly written talks: “Though it may feel like it at times, please remember you are not alone. More and more people are waking up, and once they are awake, they don’t go back to sleep. If we are going to win this war, then we have to fight hard and with determination and with passion and with the truth. Distrust the government. Avoid mass media. Fight the Lies. And thank you for watching an Old Man In A Chair.”
In his later videos, he also says “Remember, we have God on our side.” Division, possibly intensified through controlled opposition, has crippled the ‘freedom’ movement. Folks, if we don’t get it together on all sides, which requires forgiveness as well as focus, the electronic nooses around our necks will soon be drawn inextricably tight. We are still spitting at each other when we most need to join hands and embolden each other.
Many have truly bought in to one lie or another, and that is how we are being divided. Is the earth flat, round or in between? Is climate change real? Are those trails in the sky weather modification, contrails, or poisons? Do pronouns define us? Do we need to eat bugs and drive e-cars in order to save the planet? Did humankind really walk on the moon? Will a President, Prime Minister, or Preacher rescue us, or are they part of the plan? Is one side of a war completely right and the other completely wrong?
Let me ask you this: Does being right about any of the above really matter right now? What matters most? It is true that we must stand up for the oppressed and share the truth. Can we always discern the truth in this time of masterful deception? Which truth is most important to share? Is it worth alienating one another if we don’t agree on some issues?
We are all going to die, sooner or later. It is our souls that most need saving. Do whatever you do intentionally, and do it with love, not hate. It’s time to let God in.
DAD—The poem “Yet They Slept” is also dedicated to my beloved father who passed away alone in a ‘care’ home in late 2020, with family begging at the door to be let in. He died of COVID Cruelties. He was also an old man in a chair. He’s in Heaven now.
This is the story I wasn’t going to share publicly because Dad was a private man. However, it is time. I lost my Dad in October 2020, but I didn’t get a chance to be there in person, even if he’d wanted me there, which he didn’t. Even to his last breath, he lived for his children. May he rest cradled in love and in peace, in Heaven with Jesus where he longed to be.
We didn’t bury Dad for over a year, and when we did—on a bleak, fall day—just the four of us sat on camping chairs around a hole in the cemetery, playing music on a wireless speaker and reading our sad and loving statements to each other. Only in 2024 did we hold a proper celebration of life. None of us spoke about the nightmarish end times of Dad’s life there. The precious time carved into a busy summer Sunday was used to honour him.
Now, I want to honour him further by sharing the truth about the insufferable cruelty that was unleashed when ‘care’ homes were empowered and pressured to do just about anything they wanted to their residents under the ‘mandates,’ while their wicked and inhumane deeds were kept hidden from any possible scrutiny or retribution.
Dad was 91 and living in a care home in Ontario, Canada. He was living amidst, in his own lucid words, “unspeakable cruelties.” He died alone, with family begging at the door to be let in to the ‘care’ home as late as 4 pm. Despite being told he was palliative. Despite being caregivers. My sisters’ tests—the ones required for access as caregivers—had expired at midnight, so they couldn’t leverage all their efforts, even if they geared up with alienating masks, gloves, gowns, and more.
Ironically, my sisters were let in later that evening to tend to Dad’s body and to pay their regards. How sick is that? When Dad died, I was pretty much trapped on Vancouver Island, British Columbia, all for the sake of a mere ‘test’. After Dad died, I couldn’t get to Ontario for just any old reason such as being near my family. I was living alone in a ‘bubble’ of two and had nobody to grieve with, and no real way to provide comfort to others. I was trapped unless I travelled for an ‘essential service’ or possibly a funeral, which wasn’t going to happen for over a year.
To get in to see Dad in the ‘care’ home, I needed the ‘test’. To get the ‘test, I was required to travel to the mainland (Vancouver), pay an exorbitant fee that was not—and still is not—tax deductible. Following that, I had to travel home to Vancouver Island. After traveling on a ferry with all kinds of possible exposures (more irony), I then needed to wait several days for the ‘test’ results. If results were ‘positive’ (hopefully everyone knows about the problems with cycles and amplifications of the PCRs), I could then try to get a plane ticket and, if I was successful and loaded with more money than I had available to me, navigate all the madness of travelling during COVID.
I wasn’t afraid of catching anything on the plane, as I knew the highly effective HEPPA filters circulated all the air in the cabin many times a minute. (Was I the only one questioning why we were cleaning our groceries instead of cleaning the air?) I just wanted to catch a plane. It was impossible. Even if I did all that, the care home might not have let me in anyway. Getting tested in the city where the care home was wasn’t an option, because a flood of university students were clogging the queue.
The night before Dad died, staff threatened my sister with security—in front of my dying father—at 8 pm. Why? Because she hesitated to leave when commanded to do so, believing she was allowed to stay past curfew when Dad was palliative. She wasn’t being rude or disrespectful. By the way, she was right, to my knowledge, and she should have been permitted to stay. Dad had warned us that the staff were acting like they had inflated heads and had become very self-important.
Dad died having only felt the real sun on his face once and having only been in the fresh air once over a period of 12 months or more. Why? The ‘care’ home locked the residents out of the covered outdoor balcony that was accessed through the dining room, allegedly due to ‘social distancing’ and other problems with staffing. Dad used to sit on the balcony and watch the wildlife in the forest behind the home.
When he died, he was alone in a bed in his room. His phone hadn’t been working for weeks, and Bell wasn’t going into rooms at all at the time. That meant I couldn’t talk to him. He could no longer use his computer on his own, so that meant I couldn’t see him or e-mail him. My sisters could visit him outside or via a ‘window,’ but I wasn’t allowed to virtually attend with them with the help of the care home because only one ‘type’ of visit was allowed per resident, and we had to choose what was best for Dad.
Dad was a man of the woods and fields. He loved his family very much, and he lived for us. He provided for us. He protected us. Pure abuse is what it was. Penning him in and cutting him off from nature for so long, denying him access from his family, was pure abuse. He knew it. I knew it. I hope my sisters knew it then. I think they know it now. We don’t know for sure what time he finally passed.
After Dad devoted all his life and probably almost every thought of his day to his family, his beloved children were kept from him when he most needed and deserved their presence. Take note, I learned from an Ontario care home manager that the members of the Board of Directors were not personally protected by the organization’s insurance for any COVID-related claims. Let that sink in. Those people you see listed as being on the “Executive” or “Board” were then and are likely still now personally liable if somebody’s grandma caught “COVID-19” when their carers weren’t wearing a mask or hadn’t submitted to daily tests.
Insurance and liability drive a lot of social and organizational behaviour. Forget that not. Regardless of the above note, my Dad was denied his humanity. That experience is what woke me up.
2021. Creative Commons licensing applies.
