The child wakes amid the huddled masses,
blaspheme for the new day roll defiantly from his lips
as the dream becomes a fleeting glimpse of paradise.
Reality has a hard kick.
Like a young soldier off to fight their wars
with visions of grandeur, strong, brave.
The scales ripped from his eyes as his friends
fall into pieces of sorrow, and his enemies agony
as it echoes from the grave.
So wakes the child, innocent no longer as hunger
becomes the center of his universe.
Dodging the bullets of Pest Control,
from the ones sworn to protect.
Sleep by day, safer that way.
Abandoned children lie huddled tightly for warmth.
Desperately seeking compassion, finding none but
not surprised.
Empty gaze from old, cold eyes.
Then they came and bullets reigned
hate and madness into the soft, screaming
children, crying for the forgiveness
of their very existence.
Suffer the children.