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 WICKED    HAND

Eyes that mirror terror
Haunted, vacant and bleak
No help was forthcoming
In places he would seek

An adult's face had terrorised
Scared him beyond belief
No corner could he hide
Some respite and relief

Father's wicked hand had thrashed him
Huge welts across his bony back
Sleeping fitfully in a corner
His bedcover was a stinking worn sack

Where lies a life for these unfortunate children
Who dare not whisper for mum or dad
They are the victims of evil
Borne out of bad

Huge saucer eyes that cry out for help
A pitiful story that no child should share
A stranger expresses more love to him
Than a mother who just couldn't care

A simple smile is alien to them
The children of the streets
Running away from the hell-hole called home
Is better than being beat




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