This poem was made after someone on a site I have been on since last yr requested this, John was to be sentenced the following week, What a surprise when after court I received many messages about the poem that was read in the entire court room by the in
As a child he was different and teased for many years,
Countless were the nights that he cried rivers of tears.
Born with an illness that made him walk differently,
Caused his life to endure ridicule and pain emotionally.
There was nothing he could do but live with the sorrow,
If only once another set of legs he could borrow,
But things never changed,
kids were always cruel,
His childhood existed of the nightmares at school.
Not invited, but ignored, it was not his choice,
He was a boy who walked different but he had a voice.
A voice unheard, as he tried to fit in,
Never was he welcomed, never could he get in..
Deprived and lonely was this boy until,
A gang accepted him and never made his illness
a big deal.
Their doors were open and John walked inside,
he gained friends, he gained his pride.
Years passed, his mother became ill, and John was the
loving son,
His condition had become worse, help came from noone,
To care for his mother he took drugs to stay awake,
her life was in his hands , all decisions he'd make.
He was caught shortly after his mother passed away,
falsely charged and said to be going away,
He did what he did, and probably would do it again,
regardless of the situation he is a hero amoung men.
The tatoos of early gang affiliation,
did not help matters in his legal situation,
It doesn't seem fair to misjugde the already condemned
John was a man, a hero
who saw his mother through to the end..
Poetry by Donna Lee Marie Balderama
Read 626 times
Written on 2006-06-12 at 03:21
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John
As a child he was different and teased for many years,
Countless were the nights that he cried rivers of tears.
Born with an illness that made him walk differently,
Caused his life to endure ridicule and pain emotionally.
There was nothing he could do but live with the sorrow,
If only once another set of legs he could borrow,
But things never changed,
kids were always cruel,
His childhood existed of the nightmares at school.
Not invited, but ignored, it was not his choice,
He was a boy who walked different but he had a voice.
A voice unheard, as he tried to fit in,
Never was he welcomed, never could he get in..
Deprived and lonely was this boy until,
A gang accepted him and never made his illness
a big deal.
Their doors were open and John walked inside,
he gained friends, he gained his pride.
Years passed, his mother became ill, and John was the
loving son,
His condition had become worse, help came from noone,
To care for his mother he took drugs to stay awake,
her life was in his hands , all decisions he'd make.
He was caught shortly after his mother passed away,
falsely charged and said to be going away,
He did what he did, and probably would do it again,
regardless of the situation he is a hero amoung men.
The tatoos of early gang affiliation,
did not help matters in his legal situation,
It doesn't seem fair to misjugde the already condemned
John was a man, a hero
who saw his mother through to the end..
Poetry by Donna Lee Marie Balderama
Read 626 times
Written on 2006-06-12 at 03:21
Tags Faithful
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text|
Victoria Pearson |
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