Crying for the Children…

Bitterness, misery, goodness,

cruelness, to be afraid is that

the teachings of childhood.

Soul’s chrysalides in youth,

imprisoned in the beliefs of a

grown-up world, no way to

escape to their own reflections.

The chrysalis sealed, dust

collecting in the crevices of

thought, hate; potential drained,

silence must remain.  Roads long,

the climbs steep, and the tiny soul

a relic; life is bleak.  Torn, dingy,

life damned; the prison walls never

come down.  The question must be

who will avenge the children, why

was their childhood crushed.  God or

“Human Free Will”, who allows a

child’s life to wither and die; who hears

the cries; who puts the small body to rest.

Look closely at the clouds; at the tiny souls

away they fly, who will avenge them, why

did they have to die?

©2014.cryforthechildren.annjohnsonmurphree

Know a child in need of help contact:  

http://www.childhelp.org/

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