by Tom Mcmurray

Created on: February 22, 2010   Last Updated: March 05, 2010

The silver-threaded, salty tears
Stream down his tortured face
Within this darkened room again
That has become 'His Place.'

No sanctuary can be found
Behind the yellowed blind;
Another victim of abuse
To body and to mind.

The shadow of a young boy's shame
Is wrapped in every scar
Well hidden by the darkness there
In places quite bizarre.

A young boy's little voice still keeps
On crying to the womb
From where escape was made one night
To inside outside's tomb.

A lighter flickers with his only light
With hope to pacify his mind at night.
Experiences have shattered his young soul;
And gathered scatters taken make no whole.

Take his abuser!
Strip the bastard clean
'Till blister's burst in sun,
And pus begin's to steam.

No sympathy is shown
For bastards worn by scorn;
A visitation soon is due
Where death again is born

The crowd begins to gather looking down:
"Pour salty water in his wounds to drown
This beast who's painful death must now begin 
With every scream reliving every sin!"

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