He refused to Pray,
Said he had no need,
The past week flew,
Like An autumn leaf,
On a windy day,
He gobbled, his last meal,
No statements, No letters,
Left to no one,
No family left behind, just hate,
For those responsible,
For his meserable existence,
In deep thought, he remembers,
His father's physical abused,
The beathings, punches, belts,
Cursing him to hell,
Blamed, for his mother's death,
At birth.

The father, loved his wife,
She to him, was the falling star,
He caught, descending to earth,
That one summer night,
When there was, nothing but love,
In that long ago world,
Before the baby came, made his mark,
and left a blood stain.
His last memories, will be,
His dad, locking himself, in the basement,
Chose to end, his own miserable life,
To join the wife, he lost to his dreams.

The poor aimless soul,
suffered further abuse,
By monsters,
Known as foster parents,
The law caught up to him,
As he left a string,
Of drunken homeless men,
Beaten beyond recognition,
In allies across, his homelss land,
In a few minutes, the parson,
Will again ask, if he wish to pray,
Again, he'll refuse,
A tear escapes his eyes,
As he thought of the childhood beating,
Caged in his memories,
Now he'll walk, his last long walk,
To be put to sleep, by the state,
Like a stray or mad dog,
Shackled and gagged,
He's dragged, through that long,
Awaiting hall.

By: William Bonilla.
3/10/03