When children have no place to go,
no loving hand to stop and show,
it makes them hardened unto life,
that often happens with undue strife...

These children all have hollow eyes,
all tell stories, all believe lies,
they have no place to go and stay,
no one to take the demons away...

These are my children, the ones that I find,
that no longer themselves, no how to be kind.
I take them, I feed them, I give them some hope,
A place they can rest, can talk, can cope.

But they are only my children, my children to me,
Out on the streets, they are who they be.
All are young women, or already young men,
they don't get the chance at being children again.

Except, at my home. my shelter. my place.
The only place they're allowed, to finally show face,
and finally find out, just who they can be...
before I have to take the ones I've found,
and set them free.

These are my children, already lost before they're mine.
Which puts me in a bind...
I've got children to lose...
but I've got children to find.

With Equescent thoughts....
FroznChild

Wow. As usual.

Good morning Benjamin.

You are very talented at writing

was awesome to read

thank you

awesome and so true

Bravo on this write!!!

Thank you nighttime... that's real kick of you to say!

And of course, thank you everybody. I always love writing about topics like this.

and we love reading.

TO CHILDREN