Lost Children

97813e2a4de9f731c5fd4d0e29877977

Lost Children

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Who live as I did in fear of parents who fought, cursed and drank

leaving you and I to cry in our beds at night. We feared them, yet

loved them, too afraid to express our hurt, our sadness, our fears.

 

So, we took it to our schools, streets and others who we thought

would listen to us, care and worry for us, or simply hug us. For

we were lost children, feeling alone always.

 

We cried a lot, we wet our beds at night, for fear that they would

beat upon one another, we prayed for peace, no yelling, no beatings,

no blood on the floor to wipe up at the rising of the sun.

 

We where lonely children, praying that life would get better, family

would be united, fighting would stop, the past would remain the past

jealous hearts would conform to acceptance and the future would take

a turn for the best.

 

Their souls changed ours, we would grow to adulthood, confused, bitter

and angry, we wanted to love, but it was so hard, our hearts were cast in

stone, from all that we witnessed in our youth, changes were difficult, how

could we show love when it was torn from us.

 

We wished for the grave, drugs became our companion, we wanted to bury

truths, fears and anger, yet the ghosts from our pasts clung to us like honey

to it’s hive. Hearts are very hard to heal, as children, we were innocent, we

never asked to be abused, we trusted and were deceived into believing adults

who shamed us into their world, they were dishonest and untruthful to us.

 

So, we channel our beings into others, crying and begging to God that our genes

don’t duplicate what we were subject to as children being abused. Many of us

cold hearts stayed with us for our lifetime, we could never, ever be right again.

 

Why? Because love was taken away from us so early, so brutally, so unforgiving.

at a very early age. I wish for comfort to those who are lost, living now in the

streets of our world, hungry, cold, scared and lost. Oh, my heart bleeds in sorrow

for those children, now adults, yet still looking with empty eyes into their hellish

past, only seeing the ruin that their parents or adopted ones scarred them so.

 

© Copyright Vincent Moore 2016. All Rights Reserved.


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