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Poem

Fresh paint, mowed lawns, a pretty place
From the outside for everyone to see
Could be nothing but serenity
On the other hand was a place of disgrace
The captives have no chance to flee
They are no longer aware of reality

Sweet little of ladies and gentlemen they are
Can no longer protect themselves from harm's way
But all have a sweet smile
Their last chance to wish on a star
Not many listen to what they have to say
They are about to make their last mile

With the mind of a child, they trust everyone
Even the ones that abuse
But seldom a visit from a relative
In their way they know what has been done
In the end, they are the ones that lose
If they revolt, they are given a sedative

A deep dark secret kept that is long over due
Needs to be brought out in the open
For old bones and gray hairs
And let it be true
Remember, we are their children
Empty mind, hallow stare, and wheelchairs

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