A child is born into this world,
it's body bloodied, features knurled.
Unclothed, yet warm, he's wrapped in love,
from parents praying to God above.
To mould his life and make it good,
they hope he'll turn out as he should.
To triumph trials he'll face through life,
to grow and prosper, find a wife.
Settle down and raise a brood,
pass on his wisdom, lift their mood.
His heart is new, an open future,
no darkened thoughts of race or culture.
Nor nagging doubts of self esteem,
his life to mould round which he sees.
Childhood springs ahead full speed,
learn first to speak, then count and read.
Through teacher's words he finds his way,
developing, growing, everyday.
With friends and family all around,
he moves onto youth in leaps and bounds.
A darker force one day does call,
does he resist? or does he fall?
He stumbles under evil's power,
blinded by easy gifts it showers.
Seduced to darkness, midnight pranks,
breaking laws, his morals sank.
His parents, powerless over friends,
with whom more of his time he spends.
A grandious plan, all fraught with danger,
a notorious gang, led by a stranger.
Have lured him now to drink and drugs,
society spurned them, labelled thugs.
During nightime's ghostly span,
now not a boy, not yet a man.
He journeys out with nine or ten,
who just like him, believe they're men.
They steel two cars, all fuelled with hate,
then at high speed they ram the gate.
A Guard, a Father, raises up,
four bullets they send to his gut.
As he lies bleeding on the floor,
from the shadows step two more.
Armed with anger and with guns,
they open fire, thugs are stunned.
One car turns over on it's side,
all inside have lost their lives.
A frantic struggle to stop and run,
makes the boy stumble, dropp his gun.
His eyes wide open, full of fear,
bravado now replaced by tears.
Now running, running, can't look back,
he's hearing screams, and then a crack.
A bullet hits him, takes him down,
he's thrown face first onto the ground.
Writhing, bleeding, dying fast,
his life near gone, no future, just past.
As concious thoughts cloud up with black,
how he wishes he were back.
A child again with Mom and Dad,
when times were good, and fun they had.
Beside his grave they stand and weep,
and prey to God, his soul to keep.
A life cut short, on vicious streets,
the fate of man, that he did meet.