His life turned upside down,
Forced by others to “sleep” around,
He thought he did like what he did,
Death did come to him after a doing a lid…
Introduced to his “trade”,
At an early age,
From eight years on,
His life then decayed…
His pain tremendous,
Things done to him horrendous,
Happy he thought he felt,
When he didn’t “perform”,
Used on him was a belt…
Out there are still his purveyors,
In crowded places of children,
They are of “fresh meat”, surveyors,
For those that are “taken”,
All one can do is offer up prayers…L
Love ya!
Jane
To add a note about my poem, Holy Moley, it has a bit of truth and a bit of humor bottled into something comical, I hope..I appreciated your particualar comment on it.... Sandy
Love and Light
Lily
Ron
Anna
If there were, they'd soon rethink their actions.