Lost
Posted: Mon Nov 24, 2014 6:45 pm
I have change this a bit since the original Maureen but I think it fits the subject.
Lost
He lay there in the dirt and dust just off Collins street
needle tracks up both his arms no shoes upon his feet.
In the grime filled filthy doorway of an old abandoned shop
though people passed him lying there none took the time to stop.
A Vinnies worker found him and recoiled at the sight
a piece of flotsam on life's ocean another victim of the night.
How long he had been dead it was impossible to tell
the bruises on his battered face spoke of living hell.
Was he here because he chose to be or forced to be by fate
the product of a fractured family torn apart by hate.
or
Did he come in from the country wide eyed and full of hope
a runaway who'd lost his dreams consumed by drugs and dope.
Would his body now lie in some morgue broken and defiled
Would no one mourn his passing for he was some mothers child.
A story told so often but to which there is no happy end
such loss of innocence and youth so hard to comprehend
for
This is the land of plenty where all are equal so they say
but are some more so than others? Are there no shades of grey?
So we go about our daily lives but we all must bear the cost
nothing changes, life goes on and another broken soul is
lost.
Bob Pacey (C)
Lost
He lay there in the dirt and dust just off Collins street
needle tracks up both his arms no shoes upon his feet.
In the grime filled filthy doorway of an old abandoned shop
though people passed him lying there none took the time to stop.
A Vinnies worker found him and recoiled at the sight
a piece of flotsam on life's ocean another victim of the night.
How long he had been dead it was impossible to tell
the bruises on his battered face spoke of living hell.
Was he here because he chose to be or forced to be by fate
the product of a fractured family torn apart by hate.
or
Did he come in from the country wide eyed and full of hope
a runaway who'd lost his dreams consumed by drugs and dope.
Would his body now lie in some morgue broken and defiled
Would no one mourn his passing for he was some mothers child.
A story told so often but to which there is no happy end
such loss of innocence and youth so hard to comprehend
for
This is the land of plenty where all are equal so they say
but are some more so than others? Are there no shades of grey?
So we go about our daily lives but we all must bear the cost
nothing changes, life goes on and another broken soul is
lost.
Bob Pacey (C)