A child born in a ward

A baby who cries,
A mother who tries,
To quieten the child,
To hope him more mild,
He sleeps.

For the family, delight

Life has been born
Before the years of fright,

Predestined; forlorn 

He would be punished by words

Told to be complacent and quiet
To follow the herds

Not start an uncivilized riot.

He grows up just fine
But it’s due his time.


People aren’t the same they say

Through messed up words 

Like a hundred screeching birds

But it’s not their life to pay


But he knows.

His life is shorter by he doesn’t know-how

But he would be damned to bow

Let his son and daughter 

Grow and die in the slaughter

By those who had promised to protect.


Be complacent and quiet,

Be blamed for the riot.

The child is fine

But it’s due his time.


A daughter born in a ward

The baby she cries,
The wife who tries,

To stifle her tears, 

for she fears.


This poem is about: 
Our world


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