Twisted,
discarded like trash to the pavement.
Bullets rips through the body
tearing the soul from its vessel,
another ghetto child is left fatherless.
To continue this vicious cycle,
the hero he looked up to is no more.
No one to teach him right from wrong,
it doesn’t matter how much she tries,
S
some mother’s just aren’t strong.
The street welcomes this child,
in its bosom it holds him close.
In his mind he thinks this is where he belongs,
no sense of direction he chooses wrong.
What he doesn’t understand is that the path he walks,
as an excruciating end .
Can’t blame his mother
she has tried.
A mind is made up to take revenge on the ones who took is fathers life,
and the cycle continues like pinning clothes out to dry.
While she prays for guidance,
Shots rang out in the distance.
Phone rings,
call received.
Tears roll down her cheeks
She groans,
as news of her lifeless child came from the phone.
A father’s gift to his child that is nothing but a curse,
for if he had stick around his son might not have ended up in a hearse.
I am very impressed with this piece. I will read more of your writing as this topic is dear to my heart…children, families, violence…cycles
I want to do my part to make this a more peaceful planet.
Thank you for sharing your words. You are a good writer.
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the pleasure is mine, I should thank you for taking the time to read it.
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😉
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Literally my favorite piece.
Love you
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I am humbled to know that. thank you very much
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Well expressed emotion in your words, and in the tragedies on our streets. Thanks for your concise thoughts.
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thank you it was my pleasure. that piece is very dear to me because it speaks about a few friends that I have lost that way.
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