Abuse
A hand risen, is a fist fallen, With a child who is calling, A name, that does not hear the cry, Can you hear the whimper? She does not listen, The innocence no longer there, A man has risen, From the ashes, The man so great, That the child within crashes, A hand to a fist, That is what is known, Where the child has grown, To the man you see, Honour, Discipline, and Respect, Is what he learned to be, Getting hit though, Takes him back, To a time where he turned seven that day, And his mother wanted to stay, The pain was too great, The sorrow too long, That the child had to hate, Abuse comes and goes, Like the winter wind blows, A fact of life, That should not be, Staring back at me, Is those who get hurt, Seeing their pride in the dirt, Is this Heaven or Hell? No, this might be your home. Written February 14th, 1998 © on Feb 19 2002 07:01 AM PST 0 • 13
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"A hand risen, is a fist fallen,..."