Lost Generation
In the rough, cold pavement they sleep
Prone to the elements that drain them deep
A harsh concrete jungle where they live
Their lives subsist on people who give
They are children with adolescent minds
Roaming the streets is their daily grind
At red lights they run with rags on hand
Wiping windshields as fast as they can
When stomachs signal hungry pangs
Relying on rancid food in trash cans
Or press their noses outside restaurants
Where people feast, they are in want
They make their rounds begging for alms
Seldom do people drop coins in their palms
Most will just think they’ll use it for drugs
Can’t fault them to feel like being mugged
So when a convincing offer comes along
They grabbed it even if they know it’s wrong
To skillfully dip fingers and pick pockets
And slice through bags to get one’s wallet
So tell me! Do kids like those have a choice?
The state is deaf to their pleading voice
When programs are bare for social welfare
Calamities are central when no one cares
But here lies the problem and it’s the truth
To fight crime we must look after our youth
For when they have grown to be a man
We can take comfort that we did all that we can!
Copyright © Meadow Morada | Year Posted 2016
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