by Marcus Brooks

Created on: March 30, 2010

Hear Me (A plea to America's children)

You are so lucky.

To wake up in a bed

with a pillow massaging your head

You loyal Retriever licking at your feet

I pray that someday we will meet.

Unfortunately, my home is the ground.

After rebels burned my village down

They took my family into the woods.

They left them there under God's care.

I was made to join and serve.

To kill others in those same woods

I have an A-K.

But no day for play

I am a killer.

Whose barely out of his diapers

And there is my sister

She's a nine year-old hooker.

Not by her choice

With Mom and Dad dead,

Our parents are young boys.

So America's children,

Take care of your toys.

Kiss your parents.

Love them until the end.

Because, you could be here.

Fighting grown men

and probably be dead

by age ten

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