The Loss of family

She just looked,

no sight in her eyes.

as they turn into her turmoil.

He just sighed,

no hope in his soul,

as he lives on the streets.

Their young lives stolen by adults too bound up with pleasure

that they abandon the child of their loins, some sold, and

the little hands and feet beat a rhythm in their rags of the

sounds that are wound around their lives of calls and cries,

screams and tears stream down their dirty faces making 

those tracks that blind adults ignore, whoring the little ones

piteously, hideously  lasciviously taken their spirit to spit

it out and still the films are churned our teaching them

to spurn the family life that returns to a child their hope,

dignity and conformity to a way of life of security.

Souls

The soul lifted his feet and walked to meet his maker,

It felt the dirt and filth of the man who degraded him,

over and over and over he forced it to see and feel,

the terror of a child as they were bruised, battered and

violated by the body inhabited, vainly longing for change.

God looked at the wretched, broken soul, and weeping

welcomed the soul into heaven with holding and a sad,

glad heart. The soul wept bitter tears of abuse and took

the task to commit to pray for the many tortured souls,

children whose souls are assaulted aggressively daily.

—-

Little thought is given to where we take our souls and

precious moments gladden their hearts but the sullied,

soiled, sanctimonious situations batter these spiritually

based beings against the beauty, pure joy of heaven

from whence they arrived   unadulterated, loving, a holy

—–

guide to show us the way to find love and hope. The

children know.   It is like a blighting millstone around 

their necks too. Souls arrive as a sky filled sunrise to 

us and speak gently and kindly leading us to be our

best but some close their minds, block the light, and 

welcome darkness.

Slowly the soul shrivels and hides unable to leave,

like bulls in china shops, we smash the potential of a 

loving hope and tread on the broken pieces of each

life we touch or we can celebrate our gifted spirituality,

love its gracious presence, leaning on its goodness.