Just like a child
I toss pebbles in the stream
Each pebble is a wish
Every ripple is my dream
I dream of running freely
my face against the wind
Hear it's million voices
and the cicadas sing.
I dream of climbing treetops
to a majestic world
a world of happy faces
where everyone 's a friend.
I dream of sharing cookies
with those we' ve made come poor
I dream to share hot milk
where we've created war.
Just like a child
I wait for falling raindrops
to cleanse away dry mud
Mud that turned in mountains
of an untraveled path.
Mud molding the borders
so innocent can't pass
Why do we refuse them
when they are one of us ?
Just like a child
I forget the bruises all over my knees
I dance into the moonlight
along with flowing leaves.
I return to my place
with a kite still soaring high
but cannot lay in my bed
while others sleep outside.
How can I be hopeful
when innocence 's not pure
When lonely tears are prescribed
treatments without cure
Just like a child
I toss pebbles in the stream
Each pebble is a wish
Every ripple is my dream .
Dedicated to the men, women , and children ,
leaving their countries, , their homes,
trying to find a safe place to stay, to escape war ,
yet still behind boarders .
P.S - When I say We , I mean it - For our countries, our politicians,
and our voices - We can do better.
Copyright © Charmaine Chircop
I cannot stand your presence for another day,
You have ruined me in every possible way,
All this hidden pain inside was caused by you,
My tears were invisible, so you never knew.
You abused me daily with your uncaring words,
I ignored it and pretended like it was unheard,
You continued to prey on me without seeing,
That those words were hurting my every feeling.
I lived my life believing what you had said,
Your voice constantly echoing in my head,
I could not be myself because of you,
See the damage that you put me through.
Over the past few months something changed,
As my once sad thoughts were rearranged,
I have found friends who brighten up my days,
They have changed my life in so many ways.
My friends are encouraging me to just be,
I will never be like you, don't you see,
Now finally free my voice can be heard,
There is positivity coming from my every word.
Copyright © Kelly Deschler
Does no one the depth of this darkness
Of it's presence within our mist
So heavy it rains on the Glory of life
We choose to let it be
Not to see
Words of choice
To hide it from display
It will grow
It's roots of hate have already captured some
I thought these souls were safe from harm
But now they have joined and seem bound to the roots that have entangled them
The daylight grows darker daily as it struggles to survive
How can mankind repeat these atrocities over an over
Justifying their hate in any form
We have learned nothing
For our young we create the gift
So wondrous in the morning dew
Why have we chosen again and again to embrace the darkness
Copyright © Ninette Carey
War has stolen my children,
War snatched my sweetest things, god’s given;
War robbed my children from being ‘hidden’
War demolished my tiniest hope,
War has made me a body without soul.
I’ve seen bullets killing my children,
I’ve heard babies cry,
It maims my soul the way babies die;
I have nowhere to fly.
War didn’t spare a single child,
Bombs fell on smiling babies,
Weapons snatched our babies from cradle,
Ignominious war sent them to grave.
I’ve seen atrocious appearance of war,
To raise my voice I dare,
I am solo face on crowd
You can’t kill us blasting bombs loud,
I will finally hold revenge’s sword,
I want to listen my baby’s shout.
Where are my bubbly chirpy children?
When shall this war end?
When will the toys get back their owner?
When shall they again play with dolls?
War has taken over one million children,
War has made moms bed-ridden,
War has turned off the way of life,
War owed everything to malice.
Why did war kill Zelena’s new born?
Why did it take away 5 yrs old Adnaan?
Regina’s little head struck by splinter
My heart is dead like cold winter.
I play with soft toys of my children,
I weep over their lost childhood
I kiss their tiny fur shoes,
I wash their colorful clothes
To lessen my woes!!
I shake Sana’s round rattle,
I count days of battle
My lips get chapped,
My tears get dried,
But I never stop waiting,
For my little children to return,
War can’t rob our children,
It just robs the future citizens!!
Copyright © Jayeeta Shamsul
Every child is born into this world crying,
Little did this poor child know, tears would fall for the rest of her life.
Born into a world of abuse, heartache and pain,
With a drug addict, alcoholic abusive father and a heartless mother.
Every day was the same, left alone with only silence and darkness,
Dirty clothes, little to eat with every cry for help resulting in violence.
How could her eyes see any happiness when they had run dry?
How could she smile with cut lips and a bruised body?
At 7, her mother died from a lethal overdose of alcohol and drugs,
However, the abuse got worse as she became her father’s new toy.
Poor little girl, an object of carnal gratification and her innocence stolen,
By a man who was responsible for her protection and well being.
The effects of a dark and destructive childhood destroyed her confidence,
With low self esteem and no social skills, they mocked her in school.
Little did they know about the struggles in her life and the pain she was going through,
Bruised and abused, having to make her own lunch with no help from a pathetic father,
This was her daily routine- even hell would have been a more peaceful place for her.
But, little did the world know the girl had a hidden talent,
The voice of an angel and the mind of a creative poet.
At night when she sang, the stars glowed to her beautiful lullaby,
The ink of her pen was like blood rushing from her veins to create magical lyrics.
Music and poetry was her escape from a life of cruelty and rejection,
Her talent was hidden, so no one could help her reach her potential.
As the girl grew, her abuse never stopped, there seemed no end,
With constant memories of painful yesterdays and a childhood lost.
She used her incessant pains and struggles to enhance her music,
Writing hours upon hours of poetry and songs, self-teaching brilliance…
Deep inside she yearned for someone to understand her, to see her…
If not, but one, she would be wholly satisfied
Many nights she would find herself crying uncontrollably,
The darkness of the room enveloping her every being
She could see the past in her mind’s eye and be reminded of the sick present
She began to hate her father, and every brat at her school
She cursed death and life alike, and envied her mother’s eternal sleep
Everyone who spat their insult, everyone who remained silent and apathetic,
She hated them with a passion so self-destructive, it burned her raw scars...
Teaching herself to hold it in, so that on paper she could create masterpieces
And prove all of the monsters around her wrong…
In silence, she recalled the worst memories to shame further her reality.
A part of her knew that she was incredibly talented,
Though the darkness often blinded her with guilt
She felt that she did not deserve even a voice,
Her writings were but a sick reminder of demons she could never conquer
Shivering in the cold, her skin dirty and dry,
Ugly…ugly…was the only word she could live by
One night, she contemplated taking her life…
She vowed all of her suffering would meet a greater purpose,
Beyond the grave…beyond fear of hell beneath
She was dirt after all, like the kids always told her
How much worse could it be, facing the flames she was born in?
She threw the kitchen knife down and looked up at the stars above
Even Death would reject her, she knew…
In acceptance, she acknowledged her ugliness and became a stunning underdog
Rebellion sifted through her veins and her strength brought fear to her father
Bullies looked at her as if she was the devil himself
No one could tell her what to do any more,
And nobody would ever understand her
Though that was okay…
Because that is all she ever knew
Ten years later, the rotten roller coaster continued
Though a fateful night of circumstance had led her right on the stage
Men were mesmerized by her fierceness and apathy
Not being able to grasp each significant line layered in truth
She showed none mercy as she slayed ruthless chords of wonder
Her voice rang angelically, mixed with the fires and tears of her life
Echoing beyond the grave of cold Death… beyond what was wrong or right
It was her silence that stunned the audience the most
Those eyes, having seen so much…felt so much…hid so much…
That cut mouth, with the eternal dry trickle of a bitter tear
The world was not prepared for her intolerable genius,
Just as she was not prepared for their astonished applause..
A collaboration between Laura Breidenthal and the Silent One.
7 August 2015
Copyright © Silent One
A tire swing hanging from a willow tree
barely swaying to and fro
my small feet sweep
and kick up dirt
on the ground beneath and below.
Under a cold damp gray sky
safety is found here in the yard
from the darkness of the house
and the many things
I want to forget and discard.
As the rope holds my weight
my little mind is lost
too young to grasp the damage
or understand the cost.
I am the master of holding back tears
a lump keeps words from escaping
I scream silently inside
keeping my thoughts from shaping.
Slowly the motion rocks my fear to sleep
and I come back to where I came
imagination takes over
burying sad places
in my little frame.
My thoughts set free to run with wonder
oh how I love this tree
that I'm under.
Peace found while floating in a soft rubber tire
dark soul lit again
twirling under and
higher and higher.
Like scars that fade but never go away
rope has left a mark still Imprinted on the tree limb
In that yard
Copyright © Lee Carter
I took a stroll around my mind today
And there I found images, visions at play:
I saw a child, happy carefree
I somehow knew that child wasn’t me
More of a hope, a dream that never came true
That dream, that illusion was shattered by you
I saw a teen innocent naive
For that misled youth I often grieve
I see a bride and her husband to be
But for me that door’s locked and you hold the key
I see the life I should have know
The type of environment in which I should have grown
You’ve taken so very much from my life,
From my sister, your daughter, my mother, your wife
You’ve haunted my days and tortured my nights
To the memories you leave me I can put up no fight.
I will never forgive you for the pain that you’ve caused
The whole of my life has been slowed down or paused
I only hope that one day I’ll see
How to trust again and learn to be me
April is child abuse awareness month.
According to Ofsted, 3 children die every week from child abuse in the UK and Wales
Copyright © Kat Crane
(Twirling the rosary beads between her for-finger and her thumb she holds the crystal
Necklace to the window and squints in the sun)
"Hail Mary full of grace, can you show me your face oh please so I can talk to you
Bout Mamma. She get sick went to the hospitable and I miss her a lot
Dad says I need to take care of the house and do the dishes but I can’t do the tall ones
The udder day I broke the salad bowl. I cried …..Could you fix mamma’s chest so her heart don’t need the machine and she don’t have to stay in that awful white hospitable wit the smelly indefectant. Mamma says you hear every thing,
Hail Mary blessed is die room and baby Jesus in it, "
(In the kitchen two men are getting drunk on home made wine, one clonks down to the cellar to refill the wine carafe while the other staggers towards her room)
"Please Mother Mary make him go away, and make daddy run out of wine so Uncle
Has to go home to Zia, cuz she’s mad when he does things"
(She slides underneath the bed and sticks the necklace over her head holding the crucifix to a tattered scapular, on heaving chest,)
"Please make him go away, please make him go away, or make his heart break up too sorry Mudder Mary, I just peed my pants cuz I’m scared "
(The fades walls lay silent as a bust of the Blessed Virgin Mary hangs over her
bed, she is crying tears of blood, it's a sign of her deep compassion and her brokenness)
PS: As I recall this experience, it isn't so much the words I uttered that bite
but the memory of the isolation I felt, not having a mother close by for protection, at a time when a child needed it most. This was a difficult poem to write, it stirred
my soul as I wrote it, my advice to parents, stay sober for your children's sake
Copyright © Mystic Rose
There was once a maiden who lived by the sea
with lustrous lips that dried too soon
like early dew perched on a tree .
She once was beautiful with skin so fair
A veil of lilacs covered her hair.
Her eyes the brightest of moonglow beams
Her voice, a drifting wave on a late night breeze.
Her dimpled smile lit each dark alley
Her carefree spirit reached every valley.
This little maiden had never married
though noble blood her womb has carried.
Undressed from innocence, her tender flesh
has felt the warmth of drunken breath.
His fingertips exposed her neck
and then trailed down along her back.
She couldn't move, She couldn't scream
At last, She ran not to be seen.
She ran so fast to be set free
She raised her son, lone by the sea.
Copyright © Charmaine Chircop
The Punching Bag - Through the Eyes of a Child
Each day the pattern was the same,
for all Dad’s shortcomings, my Mom got the blame.
WHACK! He cursed her for all his lost dreams…
WHACK! For missed opportunities, and failed schemes.
WHACK! Dad would hit his punching bag again,
to release all his pent-up frustration and pain.
When he felt inadequate and couldn’t cope with life,
he resorted to battering Mom, his “beloved” wife.
Of course, it was always her fault that things were bad;
so he made her suffer for all the troubles he had.
Inflicting her with insults, black-eyes, concussions, and cuts,
he claimed that she deserved them because she was like all sluts.
Craftily he played on her bully-enforced meekness,
getting down on his knees to beg for her forgiveness.
Moods swinging like a pendulum from night to day,
his promises were empty - he would never change his vile ways.
Predictably, he continued to torment her as he pleased,
degrading and abusing her…he never ceased.
He figured low self-esteem would prevent Mom from leaving;
and that she was a nobody, he really had her believing.
He was oh so convinced that needed audacity she lacked,
to ever think of opposing him, or of fighting him back.
Besides, with no family around, no job, and no dough,
he smugly concluded that she had no place else to go.
God knows she was weary of existing in this hell on earth;
and I was tired of seeing her endure all that unbearable hurt.
I had had enough of being terrified by that despicable monster,
who had ruined her and made our lives an utter disaster.
After convincing Mom that inevitably I’d suffer the same fate,
one night, we finally escaped to a shelter before it was too late.
*** (Note: Thank God, nothing like this ever happened to me. But this piece is dedicated to those many women and their children who are victims of domestic violence. According to Domestic Violence Statistics, around the world, at least one in every three women has been beaten, coerced into sex or otherwise abused during her lifetime. Most often, the abuser is a member of her own family. Based on reports from 10 countries, between 55 percent and 95 percent of women, who had been physically abused by their partners, had never contacted non-governmental organizations, shelters, or the police for help.
Copyright © Pandita Sanchez
Push and shove
Punch and hit
Throwing a bad violent fit
Never knowing what you did
Because the liquor left it hid
Remembering is hard to do
When it takes control of you
You try and stop with group support
But one sip and you abort
All the senses telling you
This is a bad thing to do
Having fun with all your friends
Swigging every drink they send
With each one you can’t hold back
You start to hit and start to smack
A child who don’t understand
Why other daddy’s use their hands
To hold and love their little ones
But she has to hide and run
So afraid and scared to death
With every hit she holds her breath
Praying for her life each time
He does this violent act of crime
Copyright © robin davis
She was only five and this is what
happened when she was alive
Ser dad was a drunk her mom was an addict
They always kept her locked up in the attic
Her only friend was a toy bear
and it was old and worn with patches of hair
She always talked to it when nobody was around
she layed there and hugged it with not a peep of sound
Until her parents unlocked the door
some more pain she'll have to endore
Bruise on her leg scare on her face
why would she have to be in such a horrible place
She grabs her bear and softly cries
she loves her parents but they want her to die
She sits in the corner quiet but thinking
god why is my life always sinking
Such a bad life for a sad little kid
she got beaten and beaten for anything she did
And then one night her mom came home high
and she got beaten as the hours went by
Then her mom suddenly grabbed for a blade
it was sharp and pointy the one that she made
She thrusted the blade right in her chest
you deserve to die you worthless little pest
The mom walked out leaving the girl slowly dieing
she grabbed hey bear and again started crying
The police showed up at the small little house
and quickly barged in everything quiet as a mouse
One officer slowly opened a door
to find the little girl lieing on the floor
It must have been hard to go thourgh so much harm
but at least she died with her best friend in her arms
A child dies every day from child abuse and if you have an ounce of pity in your
heart for little auorura and you hate child abuse do something about it and let
them know that someone cares about them
Copyright © dillon hunt
I do not know?
Dear Sir, my innocence is gone now, no more fear
Do you love to **** me again, I am always here.
I wonder when you taught me how to use a pen,
I was so into you but my ****** was in pain!
I was crying; I was too immature to understand
I was turning only 13, I couldn't feel what happened.
but I promise I never forget what you taught me at the end.
I begged you to stop and looked into your eyes,
there was a reflection of a cruel world, that’s what I deserved!
Don't be afraid, mommy never knows what you did,
Nobody knows that you made me bleed.
Dear sir, my innocence is gone with all my tears,
as I had no safe place to hide myself from fears.
Nobody saw anything as your world was so blind!
having hidden hatred inside, a virgin died.
Dear sir, time cannot erase your memories,
time doesn't heal all wounds, that you marked,
yes, you took my innocence that will be always on my mind.
My innocent world was shattered by your touch
Hope no one ever has to experience such
For all the pain, all the cruelty, thank you very much!
Copyright © Farhana Akter
It’s not fair
But then it never is
All the teachers
All the learning that they got
It couldn't prepare them
It couldn't stop it
Or halt it
Or even control it?
The whirlwind that is I
All the promises and
All the lies
It was all too much
It was never enough
The whispers behind my back
The taunts, and jeers;
Even the teachers
Who are supposed to protect
and keep order;
Just walk away
Just ignore her
She’ll go away
Yes Mrs. Mother
Well stop it
She has coodies
No one likes you
No one wants’ to play with a lesbian like you
It would be so much better if she were gone
I wish she would just leave forever
I never showed my face
But you still;
What did I ever do to you?
What could I have done to you?
I was only ten
Just barely out of childhood really
But I can't really blame you...can i?
No I can't
My only option left
Did it make you happy?
Did you smile?
Was all that work
All that cruelty
All that heartache;
Was it worth it?
Did it finally make you feel better?
Like you were better,
Who was your next victim?
Not like it matters
They didn't help them either
You can't see
You refuse to see
Just like the teachers
They all failed
Not only me
I hope you all are proud.
Copyright © Rayne Thomas
Standing all alone on the hill, poor child,
Staring at the town’s old mill, poor child.
If daddy only hadn’t lost his job last year,
Maybe he’d be living with us still, poor child.
Winters coming soon he’ll need some shoes,
He doesn’t even have a dollar bill, poor child.
He rubs his hungry tummy as a tear fills up his eye,
But you won’t hear him cry for he is still, poor child.
He wanders off to find some scraps to eat,
Digs in the dumpster near the grill, poor child.
The boy then seeks a place to rest his head,
Thankful that he still has one more pill, poor child.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans
im sorry ive caused you pain.
i thank you for sticking by me through everything.
and not giving up on me. i dnt no what
i would do if you had given up on me.
Im sorry ive lied to your face and you knew it,
but you still loved me the same as before.
so i thank you.
i dont know if i would be here with you if you had given up on me.
im sorry ive broken your trust over and over,
and you still wanna trust me.
i thank you again.
i dont know wat i would have done if you didnt trust me.
im sorry ive done things behind your back,
even though i promised you i would never do them.
im sure you knw but you never said anything.
i wish you would have. it would have saved us all alot of pain
i thank you for never giving up on me.
i dont no how to tell you how much i love you.
mom i love you sooooooo much you wont ever no how much i love u and thank you for everything
Copyright © jaremy mount Jr
Within life's cesspool, captives held for trade,
Along infested ways where young-child rape
Is glorified by twisted souls who gape
And for the purity of babes are paid.
In dim, demonic dwellings are they laid
And sold to loathsome loves who drape
Stolen innocence in sin's evil curse--
Beyond protection or rescuing raid;
The shadowy officials turn the head
To wink or sometimes join the savage curse.
Somewhere sad, broken parents, sobbing, lie,
Tortured days and nights saturate with dread
While ever fuller grows the sex trade's purse:
The victims cry alone and ask God why.
May 3, 2014
Copyright © Faye Gibson
Life is so precious, so hard to keep.
Daddy died, a baby were discovered.
Secretly growing in my young daughters body.
A mixture of all cultures, all races but my first chance at a legacy.
The clashes in the mixture were brutal.
The blows were deep.
The killing words, the verbal harassments, the evil projected onto white faces.
A beautiful child, chubby cheeks, vibrant smile, loving nature searching to be accepted by those she loved. Asking little with so much to offer.
Oh how I love that child.
I want to protect her.
I want her to be safe.
I want her to know that someone loves her unconditionally.
But it is not about me..
She is now an adult...
I have no right to her business...
I can not save her life.
Whether this love can be transmitted over thousands of miles is the question.
Whether she feels this love...and the love of God that can pull her through.
My beautiful child.
Please find that strength.
Please recognize the beautiful person you are.
Copyright © Gen Cambridge
Molested the first fifteen years of my life. My mother remained silent the whole time. As the molesting continued all those years. Forced to live a pretend life all my childhood. Beaten and punished every other day. For no reason other than being a child. After all this I figured I was a unwanted child. My mother couldn't love me abusing me. She brought me fancy expensive clothes every year. To cover up all her verbal, mental, and physical abuse. She tried to hide me from people, family and friends. So that they wouldn't see the embarrassing scars and bruises. Sometimes so bad I couldn't even go to school the next day. Or I would get into fights or act rude to get a suspension notice. That would have allowed my body to heal. One time I even tried to get ex-spelled. However, it didn't work. I only came home to more beatings. Her boyfriend watched and help hold me down on the floor as she would beat, and beat, and beat. Maybe this gave him a idea that it was ok to abuse me. Being that my mother was already doing it. Yeah! From the outside looking in my childhood was perfect. Every child wanted my seat. Name-brand clothes, shoes, computers, and almost every toy in the Jc Penny catalog. From the inside looking out I was screaming to get out. Scared, alone, abused, and still a child. So there was nothing I could do. I had no brothers or sisters at the time. All my family wouldn't believe me.No! Not him they would say, and did say at age fifteen I started getting older, and more developed. I had to put a stop to this. So after talking to some school friends. I decided to talk to my mother about what was going on. So later on that night I called my mother in to talk to her. I had told her what had been going on. while she was a work, and out late shopping. She in return asked me to draw a picture of his *****. As if she didn't believe me on the spot. What! I thought to myself. How could she ask me a thing like that? After one hour she finally called the police. I was brung in also for video questioning. I told them what had been going on in the house while my mother was away. The police in return asked me "what took so long for me to tell" I replied" I was scared, alone, and threatened. I had no one in the house to protect me. From my mothers abusive ways. I thought people would tease me." The next question was to my mother. The police asked "How could you live in the same house, and not know that your child was being raped?" My mother sat quietly and had no answer. So she got charged with neglect. My mother's boyfriend got charged with child molestation, and a few other things. I can't remember them all. After all that I was still scared, but finally free. Free to be a kid again.
Awh, hell the relationship between my mother and I went down the drain. After trial she hated me even more. Every day she was threatening to kick me out of the house. I was only sixteen so she couldn't just kick me out. Yet! She even got so angry at times. She went as far as not letting me communicate with my newborn brother. She even told people to keep him away from me. That hurt me so bad everyday. I prayed to God everyday to soften my mother's heart, but it never happened. When I turned eighteen she finally kicked me out the house for real. With no place to go, no money , and no food to eat. I ended up living with family and friends until she let me back in. I don't know why, but I thought things had changed. About a week after moving she called the police and told them that I was prostituting. Which was a lie. Thank God I didn't spend time in jail. Due to her lies and deceit. I never thought I would have to leave my own mother alone. However, after that incident that was my final decision. Sporadically I call her to hear her voice, and check on my brother. Unfortunately she never answers the phone. Her guilt for abusing me won't let her answer the phone.
I moved to Albany, NY for a fresh start. A new beginning! There I met more friends, moved into a brand new apartment, and fell in love. I wasn't expecting to fall in love, but I did. With a adorable, hot, and sexy Italian guy. For the first time my life was great, and I was happy. I even tried some plus size modeling, nursing, and I started self-publishing my writings. I was accomplishing things that my mother never encouraged me to do.
After about four years I started feeling homesick . So I came back to Virginia. Wow! What destruction was happening. My whole family fell apart. Nothing or nobody were the same. They all became police property. That was a sign to continue to stay away from them. Continue my happy life. Continue self-publishing my stories. Praying to God everyday. that I remain successful. This is a true story. Unfortunately it happened to me. From a mother who brung me in this world. Only to use and abuse me my whole entire childhood. Then pretend that nothings even going on.
Copyright © Dorine R Spruill
If I Could Have Gotten Your Embryo
Before You Were Born
I Would Have Sheltered You Safely
and Protected Your Form ...
I'd Have Put You In My Womb
& Flowed You Knowledge Like In A Tubric
& Patted My Expanding Belly
As I Played You Music
And As You Got Ready
To Arrive From The Birth Canal
You Would've Known My Breasts
Would Be Ringing Like Welcome Bells! ...
Eager To Suckle You
Breast Feed My Own Flesh & Nourish
So You Could Grow Strong
... In Love's Encourage
I Would've Held You In Wonder
& So Close Tenderly
Amazed At This Little Bundle,
Breathing, Piece of Me ...
And When You Turned One
Or As You Sucked Your Thumb
Or Eating Baby Food Jars of Plums
... I'd Have Given You Trumpets & Drums
... And Building Alphabet Blocks
& Superman Capes
& Stuffed Teddy Bears
& Oatmeal Cookies & Grapes
I'd Have Read You Stories
From Capt. Adventure Books
You'd Have Known You Were Loved
By My Proud Mama Looks
I'd Have Spent Time With You
Showing You How To Tie Your Shoe
Rocked You If You Caught The Flu
or Any Sniffles You Went Through ...
I Would Have Played With You
& Prayed With You
From Crawling To Walking
Paved The Way For You
Yeah, I Would Have Fussed At You
& When Needed Even Spanked You Too
& I'd Meant: This Hurts Me More Than You
'Cause You're The Little Symbiot, Mama Grew
So, You Would Have Known
You Were Loved & Treasured
You Would Have Known
Your Worth Couldn't Be Measured
Nor Compared To Anyone Else
At Any Point In Time
'Cause You Are The Best
Because You Were "Mine"
* * * * * * *
But I Never Knew You
But Believe Me If I Had ...
I'd A Made Sure You Had
A Loving Mom & Dad
And You Would've Never Been Abused
Or Treated Bad ...
But From Now On Find Your Joy
To Replace What's Sad
Written & Copyrighted ©: 9/12/2013
by: MoonBee Canady
Copyright © MoonBee Canady
Little boy lost in echoes of his past.
Not knowing though never forgetting.
In things that linger in memories unspoken.
Lost and alone always foreboding thoughts.
Dreams of nightmares scattered across his mind.
Colors always dark and muted in a fog.
So many drugs on this lost highway.
Some days were filled with blue skies.
Most often then not colors of gray muted walls.
Bruises were a constant on wrists and ankles.
There is always that sinking feeling rising up.
Words and memories flashed through his mind.
It is a place of control except no control at all.
It is free reign here to do what is pleasing for some.
The mind can take you away from places you can't deal with.
He locked away secrets, deep inside, as he tried to forget.
As he watched the paintings on the wall changing forms.
As they took him places he longed to be, to forget things.
He did not want to see, dreams of nightmares and evil things .
As this boy never understood bringing to near death.
When the song of the holy rang out in his ears.
He thought he had nothing in this life to fear.
And in the end this lost boy slipped off to heaven.
Never to be seen again, with no one to cry for him.
3am 3/ 24/ 2012 I took the liberty of putting 3- 4 stories in one poem/ my X was a cop, and he told me a few stories of him & his team rescuing those boys .
Copyright © Debbie Duncan
When I met her , a very old lady she was , yet inside lay a frightened child .
I felt my heart cry , I felt as if I was touching history itself , as I made this older lady, child, chai .
I remember the day , and so many tears I have cried
I have cried before she and I met
As a child , so many tears, left confused inside .
Not understanding Why , and how could we stand by and live our lives as if this never happened ?
It happened , we are left in dismay of the movies seen the accounts taken of History
My self ..I have caught stereotyping the very people whom did this to she , the rest of her Family erased .
The white candles we light , we try and forgive , or just simply block this pain out completely.
It occurs , over and over , as it has been said History will repeat .
When thinking of my children , when I think of that little girl losing , cold and scarred , feeling only defeat .
There is a lesson here and I pray , that all whom have been taken from life , have no pain and are gifted spirits throughout eternity . May they be warmed with love, and reunited with the ones they lost .
The first time I met her , her old hand I took and warmed it with mine , I held it for a long time .
You could not, but notice ..the Evil imprinted on skin , the Evil only to remind.
This very old Soul , in her eyes you could see .
The child that once lived , so innocently free, not aware yet, of the Hostility .
I speak of a Little girl, I speak of a old woman , I speak of a Jewish, chosen Religion.
There as I held her frail , old hand , a brand , a number stamped in Evil a long time ago . In 1945 , once in our distant, yet Frightening past .
We should never forget , never forget it happened , never forget all the names .
If we do , we have learned nothing , A World living in Shame .
" Etta Babooshka Kofman "
Copyright © Shanity Rain
Reflections of imperfections
have shown me a way
that I can move mountains
through my power of faith
even though I can't see him
I know he is real
through the power of prayer
and a Love that I feel
It's growing inside me
like a flower in bloom
shall I reveal my powers
or is it too soon
I am reading the signs
through my darkness I find
a reason for belief in
the light of mankind
that I know shall overcome
the greatest of odds
the Love I seek amazes me
especially through the flaws
because now I am inspired
through the hero's that bring
my throne through the darkness
on which I return on as your King.
Copyright © Bj Fard
A child on the street
Begging for something to eat
Copyright © Arden Gopela
Conflicts in night
CNN reports of terror.
Lives being scrutinized
A blood bath
The colors are everywhere.
Scores of eyes look around scared.
The code is RED.
In desperation, stands a child.
His arm is bleeding.
He is begging for his life.
A blood bath lay before him.
His eyes are scared.
He hiccups and he was left there.
His colors of life are psychedelic.
He sees the code.
He freaks out.
He rolls around intoxicated.
He forgets for a moment himself.
A little girl hallucinates.
Her father and mother ran away.
They shouted to her, “Hide any place.
Your life with us is no longer safe.”
She seeks a hole under a shed.
The terrorist left her there.
The colors of life are a child’s demon.
In darkness, you can hear them scream.
Their parents give the code.
Once given, a child world becomes cold.
Infants are shot.
Her twin did not.
The terrorist left uninformed.
The clock ticked another baby's life - gone.
The colors of life are a child’s mourn.
They lives are forsaken by those grown.
In time of trouble, they must take care of home.
The colors of life are obligatory.
The code is BLOOD.
Copyright © Verlena S. Walker
Knocked up knocked down
Beat up and pushed around
Things ain’t gonna be, gonna be
The way they used to be
Because I got an equalizer
I’ll knock you in the head
I got a tranquilizer that’ll put you
Straight to bed
So daddy don’t
Daddy don’t you do the things
You use to do
Knocked up knocked down
Beat up and pushed around
Things ain’t gonna be, gonna be
The way they used to be
You can kiss my ass
And the trailer good bye
Mama said you was less that
So daddy don’t
Daddy don’t you do the things
You use to do
Sheriff come round and says
Your bound to die if you keep it up
So save yourself and don’t come around
What is done is done
But I swear if I see you again
It will be at the end of pointed gun
So daddy don’t
Daddy don’t you do the things
You use to do
Copyright © Stephen Kilmer
On fringes of shadow, charred black of burnt night,
she limps through the dimmest and cruelest of streets.
Huddled with her loss, body bruised and beat,
Mama’s caked makeup tries hiding her fright.
Little girl of twelve pretends to be grown;
with tomorrow gone, she paints on red smile.
Bright lights flash cold eyes, wicked hearts defile;
all star-struck fresh thoughts are buried in moans.
An evil descends from man’s greed and scorn;
In dark suit and tie, an average, white face,
money for Mama, from far, west world place.
Screams pierce soiled mattress on hot, red-smeared morn.
From under tight ropes her stripped body bleeds;
recoiled in dried tears, she silently pleads.
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
There was a little dog one day,
Who ambled on his aimless way.
He didn't have a house or home:
A doggy bed or fine meat bone.
His coat was mats and full of fleas.
He owned no boy to try and please.
Near garbage bin was where he sat,
Along with one sad, homeless cat.
His human threw him out you see.
This person wasn't you or me.
For we would never be so cruel,
Or act like some poor, heartless fool.
The winter came and with it cold.
Dog's airy ways were put on hold.
He shivered in the dark of night:
A sad, pathetic, needy sight.
And then a storm blew in with snow.
It left dog with no place to go.
He sat and whined beside the road,
For someone kind to lift his load.
Then came a car -- slow passing by.
A young boy warm and loved inside.
He saw the freezing, half grown pup
And begged they stop and pick him up.
The winter passed and next the spring.
Now please behold a wondrous thing.
A boy and dog romp on the grass.
All mats and fleas now in the past.
It's joy and love and fun we see.
The way that God meant it should be.
Both run and play, all pain now past;
This bond of dog and boy shall last.
The sad thing is allotted time
Of man and dog will just not rhyme.
The boy will know sad loss of friend,
Long years before his own sure end.
Then in a time that's yet to be,
They'll reunite both young and free.
Forever will their bond go on,
In timeless sunsets, countless dawns.
© 2015 Diane Lefebvre
Copyright © Diane Lefebvre
as God is our witness…
you told me you loved her
could see no beauty like her
would never hurt her
she was your queen
the greatest creation seen
then you changed
said you made love to her
like a mad dog
with the mange
you went and hit her
forgot to remember
what I said
‘bout gon’n up side yo head
that’s why you’re nearly dead
and I’ll gladly stand accused
of defending the abused
touch my baby a’gin
and ’om gonna commit a cardinal sin
take my case to the bench
plead the 5th and old testament
so you better look out boy
wallowing in your feigning joy
you better open your eyes and see
there’re a lot out here just like me
abuse our baby one more time
and it’ll surely be your last crime:
as God is our witness
you need to start praying for forgiveness.
Copyright © millard lowe
Copyright © 2013
Skittles and a soda
against a gun in its holster?
One day that scream
will be known as a teen
not a heinous lying Fein
What a sinister ploy and twist
with a loaded gun and no fist?
Had everyone sitting and waiting
doomed by a verdict just delaying
Was this just an optical illusion
or, a devious planned conclusion?
Now, this generation too afraid
wearing hoodies will get you dead
But, the Klan was still glad
hoodies they've always had
A verdict they too saw,
ushering in martial law
Copyright © Les Pruitt