Poem For One Victim
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 | Year Posted 2015
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