This poem was written for children that died at the hands of the people who was supposed to save and protect them. The people that were supposed to love them and d care for them but chose to take their lives.
Every child in nearly every land,
All are familiar with the same drill,
That they shouldn't have to be afraid,
And that monsters aren't real.
Creepy demons crawling from the closet
Dead things living under the bed,
Hellish creatures from under the pillow,
Living ghouls underneath their head.
But there was a difference with this child
Who looked death in the face,
Having to face an awful reality,
That this was no ordinary place.
The last moments in terror,
That no child should have to face.
Alas, Evil Triumphed over Good,
While ripped from life's embrace.
Not the voice of a stranger,
Nor the face of an unknown,
A glance in the face of Evil,
Mirrored back to be his own.
These monsters showed no mercy,
With horrifying zeal.
Proved that death was to be its fate.
And the monsters under the bed were real.
By Sonya Dickerson © 2015
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