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Robin A Spicer

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Member Since: Oct, 2002

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Red Light
by Robin A Spicer

Thursday, October 14, 2004
Rated "PG13" by the Author.
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           >> View all 100

I do not know why i wrote this poem. I only know that each year thousands of young women, many still in their early teens, are enticed into crossing borders with the promise of a better life. Only to end up being forced to work as sex slaves in Brothels all over the world. Many do not survive, becoming faceless victims, when their youthful looks leave them.

*************************************************

Red Light

 

 

The little light blinks above the door,

She rises slowly from the bed.

She picks up her heels from on the floor.

The light in the ceiling shines a dull red.

 

Soon she can leave this cursed place..

Only another six months to go.

No longer a slave with painted face,

Once again freedom she will know.

 

For three long years she has been in this room

They say she must work to pay her way

Sometimes it feels she is deep in her tomb.

She works in the night and sleeps through the day.

 

They told her that she could have a new life.

Away from the squalor to which she was born

No more hunger or fear in her life

If only she’d known of the lies they had sown.

 

Each day as she sleeps she has the same dream.

Her Mother and Father, waving goodbye

She wakes with a sob and silently screams

She thinks of her youth with a sob and a sigh.

 

She longs for the day she can walk in the sun

Forget all the horror, forget all the pain.

Memories fading one day will be gone.

And maybe one day she will love once again.

 

But the little light blinks above the door.

She closes her eyes and lays on the bed

She can hear heavy breathing as he closes the door.

The light in the ceiling is shining Blood red .

 

 

R.A.Spicer © 15th October 2004


 

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Reviewed by Tami Ryan 10/23/2004
It's clear to me why you wrote this, Robin. It's the compassion in your heart :) Thank you for speaking out.

Hugs,
Tami
Reviewed by jude forese 10/16/2004
a sad plight for one to experience ... hope transformed into despair ...



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