"WHERE MEMORIES COME TO REST"
Monday, 25 May 2015
Bad boy, naughty boy, singled out with finger pointed,
Beggar, thief, rascal, with bad names he is so anointed,
Knocked about, locked up & out, then the mug shot taken,
With society asking, if to his crimes, he will ever awaken.
He was born in lowly gutter, through no fault of his own,
He was shunned by society, without a warm loving home,
Merely roaming around the edges of scum, gloom & grime,
Flirting with all that is bad, within his innate life of crime.
Yet this rapscallion´s rant of, “I am a good boy, nearly”,
Fell on the deaf ears of society, saying “Is that so, really?”
He had never been cared for & he had never known love,
But someone had plans for him, & was watching from above.
5/25/2015 06:48:00 pm
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