This world is in a whirl of chocolate and vanilla swirls, with little girls wearing pearls and bright red lipstick. We're so quick to pick the sick and toss them away and say, 'Why don't you stay in this place with white walls? In this place where there's people like you living down every single hall?'� While we decide to reside in our houses not hearing how they replied and denied the desire to retire in such a place. We're so caught up in the techno, the retro, and the cost of petrol, that we don't know our children are begging to be loved. All we do is work to maintain, but then we complain about the chains that our jobs have us in. And all the while the child is wishing for a bed time story. To be tucked in and begin the process of peaceful sleep, but the parents keep to themselves while the child counts the sheep. Unwatched, he listens to bad music with good beats, walking down dangerous streets, not knowing who he will meet, and he repeats what he sees being done in the streets: bad things until he takes a seat in front of a jury and judge. But who are we to hold a grudge when it's apparent that his mistakes are the fault of his parents. The child didn't know that he should show respect wherever he goes and should grow with Christ in his life. But the world will never see how things are and should be, and on and on it turns, but no new lessons are learned.

Want to comment on this Poetry? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Poetry and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...