Beyond the bars there is a child,
Who tries to hide from all the wild,
That those eyes see everyday,
As the tears fall and say
“Please don’t let them get me in here!”
Innocence exists not, but only the fear,
In those eyes are to be seen
As the child sees the evil in those streets so mean.
Beyond the walls there sits a child,
Who never hears the noise turn mild,
The blast of the gun,
The everlasting sound that prevents this child to have fun.
If this youngster ever knew such a wonder,
As many generations did when they were younger.
Is a mystery to that voice that moans,
As the body trembles and sits alone.
Beyond the bobwire there stands a child,
Whose screams can be heard for miles
As the anger and frustration bursts out,
For society continues to shout,
Their stereotypes and lies
Obstinate to the cries,
Of that feeble mind of torment,
Whose time is spent,
Carrying mace or a knife,
For the protection of its aghast life.
Beyond the crime scene there looks on a child,
Who sees the peers obtain a file,
A record, a hindrance in their being,
A sight the young eyes are accustomed to seeing.
Beyond the offensives and the trepidation are the children,
That fall asleep to the loss and din,
That accompanies them every night,
That make them pray for the day and light.
As the tears fall for the while,
Beyond all this, there is a child.
Age 15
Copyright 1995 Wendy Torres