Child Abuse
How many pleas go unanswered
as their cries echo through the night?
Too many, I am afraid to say
as we hear about child abuse almost every day.
Committed by those who are most trusted,
our guardians of the young
are the ones who defile
the young lives in their care.
What about those who are abused
will they become abusers one day
for the treatment they have received?
That question will remain unanswered
until sometime in future years.
15 October 2009
Author's Note:
Although this poem may depict that all child carers are abusers, they are not. Although in the news in England of late there have been several cases in which child abusers have been people who were in charge of children. I wish now to apologise to the genuine carers that are perfectly innocent if they feel offended by my poem.
This poem was written to underline a question do those abused in turn become abusers.
DVH 15/10/09
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
My Dream Has Become My goal -My Goal Has Become My Dream
I have traveled down so many roads
In the dreams that were untold.
Dreams take us to places we’ve
Never been before.
Opening up our minds
And opening different doors.
Dreams of hope, dreams of love
Sent from up above.
Dreams that set your heart fluttering
Like the wings of a bird
Seen but hardly heard.
Dreams of goals that we set
But haven’t gotten to yet.
But my dream is not a simple one
I want to change the bad s that were done.
To abolish human trafficking and child abuse
Although it seems like it’s no use.
The almighty dollar is the bottom line
And has been with us since the beginning of time.
Traffickers make millions- something we will never see.
But at least we know that we are living free.
Then there are the abusers
both men and women alike
Who take advantage of the weak
Because they can not fight.
Child abusers, women abusers
They are all the same
They put blame on society
And yet they have no shame.
You know you have a problem
So medical help you should seek
This form of aggression has
reached its boiling peak.
To some this is the norm for what
They have gone through
But taking it out on others
Is not what you should do.
To stop all of this is my dream.
I will spread the word to all
Who love to read
We must tell everyone
We must plant the seed.
Let us change the laws to help
All the abused and the oppressed.
Abusers and traffickers are not concerned
About going to hell.
Just look at their smirk and you can tell.
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Young Life Being Destroyed
There is a scandal in this sick world,
That makes the majority of us feel so reviled,
If there's a crime as heinous as murder,
It's the sexual abuse of a child.
It's been around for thousands of years,
But some have looked the other way,
The men in dark suits have hidden the truth,
While the victims do not have a say.
They've been beaten, abused and tortured,
By people who are nothing but beasts,
But these scum do not wear labels,
They can even be nuns and priests.
If they took time to read their scriptures,
These predators would know full well,
There will be no entry to Heaven for them,
For an eternity it's confinement in Hell.
There are some who work in nurseries,
They're even in our schools,
These predators are all around us,
But they don't live by our rules.
The type of work they're engaged in,
From suspicion they are exempt,
They gain the confidence of children,
Then treat them with total contempt.
They're the very people we turn to,
When we're in our hour of need,
But beware there is evil among them,
On your childhood innocence they'll feed.
They're the ones we are taught to believe in,
What reason would we have not to trust,
Something you would never contemplate is,
Their thoughts towards you could turn to lust.
When it's found out what they've been doing,
Rather than have them exposed,
They sweep it under the carpet,
It's better this subject's kept closed.
Those we trusted to look after us,
They were meant to show us affection,
While we've been sentenced for the rest of our lives,
They'll be given a lifetimes protection.
The abusers are rarely brought to book,
Their hierarchy cover their tracks,
They'll assure you it's being dealt with,
But it's the truth this statement lacks.
Who makes this momentous decision,
When they know of the harm that's been done,
It's not just mental it's physical as well,
There are times we wish we had a gun.
Before you say you can't seek revenge,
That is not the Lords way,
We'd use that gun to kill ourselves,
When abused we did not have a say.
The abusers are quietly moved away,
While the victims are left on their own,
These scumbags think we will just forget,
Our contempt can and will be outgrown.
The problem with this stupid notion,
Is to whom is it actually directed,
It's certainly not to the victims,
For their lifetime they will be affected.
Anyone found guilty of this barbaric crime,
Should immediately forfeit their life,
To know these Devils are still on this Earth,
Only causes the victims more strife.
The do good brigade need to be told,
You are playing a dangerous game,
By supporting this evil stalking our streets,
You must shoulder just as much blame.
While we are forced to get on with our lives,
With a feeling of total despair,
Your false ideals just increase our pain,
They show us just how much you care.
You've been telling lies for years now,
By saying we can all rest assured,
When will you fantasists realise,
Child abusers don't want to be cured.
What would you do if it happened to you,
If it was your child would you still be so keen,
The fact is none of you have got any clue,
By your actions it's their casualties you demean.
So let me tell you a real home truth,
You leave the victims feeling devoid,
For there's nothing on Earth can compensate for,
‘' A Young Life Being Destroyed ‘'
I wanted to write something from a child's viewpoint... Five of the characters I have played in movies have either been abused or became abusers, themselves, and I just kind of felt like there was a need.
It is the role of good journalism to take on powerful abusers, and when powerful abusers are taken on, there's always a bad reaction. So we see that controversy, and we believe that is a good thing to engage in.
quote by Julian Assange
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Witnessing II
Honesty is the essential problem of all abused children.
First we must determine what the reality around us is,
defining with eyes unclouded by other people's wants and needs.
They we must learn unremitting honesty with ourselves.
The temptation will be to bend the truth here,
because it's more convenient,
because no one gets upset,
because we wish to please;
or tell partial truths there; misguided altruism,
wanting to protect someone else's feelings.
No matter how hard we work to speak the truth,
there will always be other old, abused children,
crying out to us to keep the secrets,
and other old abusers,
demanding the complicity of our silence.
©2012
poem by Lynn Cohen
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Remembrance of a Child
This poem is written for all children taken from this world by rape and abuse.
Remembrance of a Child
By: Adam M. Snow
Remembrance of a child,
born tender and mild,
not an age past eight.
Such innocent filled eyes,
this world despise,
now lying in this grave.
She would laugh and play,
every night and every day,
with that smile upon her face.
She could light up the world,
when she danced and twirled,
now her essence is broken.
She never done no harm,
with her joyous charm,
now her essence is tainted.
She didn't deserve what she got,
yet the people soon forgot,
how she died in vain.
Taken from home by a family friend,
raped and abused, soon would be her end.
Now tarnished and left for dead,
cold and alone she waits,
as the world berates,
now naked and afraid, she dies.
Remembrance of a child,
born tender and mild,
yet taken at a young age.
Such innocent filled eyes,
this world despise,
now lying in this grave.
poem by Adam M. Snow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Psycopaths
On the news we see abusers,
Are they psycopaths.
Drug abusers in the schools.
Are they psycopaths.
Confused sick people,
Are they psycopaths.
The misfits, unfit depicted as mad.
Are the ones paranoid,
Also psycopaths.
And the people who annoy,
Are they psycopaths.
What about the crooks,
Are they psycopaths.
And what about the people everyday I pass.
And what about the people everyday I pass.
Are the ones who lie and cheat,
Are they psycopaths.
And what about deceivers,
Are they psycopaths.
And the cops who beat up people,
Are they psycopaths.
Is everyone I see,
A psycopath.
Is everyone I see,
A psycopath.
And what about the homeless,
Who have no cash.
Are they and the hungry,
Psycopaths.
And what about the people everyday I pass.
And what about the people everyday I pass.
Are the rich and snobby people,
Also psycopaths.
Are the people who don't eat,
Are they psycopaths.
And those who watch their diets,
Are they psycopaths.
And those playing videos,
Killing fast!
Are children being raised,
As psycopaths.
Are children being raised,
As psycopaths.
And will psycopaths,
Have all of the cash.
And will psycopaths,
Have all of the cash.
And will psycopaths,
Have all of the cash.
Are children being raised,
As psycopaths.
And will psycopaths,
Have all of the cash.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Rage For Justice
Sometimes we seethe with rage
over some heinous crime committed.
Our voices are raised with thousands of others
for justice to prevail, and then watch in disbelief
as a nominal sentence is incurred.
Although the courts think,
they decide the fate of the individual
it is inside the walls of prison
that really seals their fate.
Sex offenders and child abusers
are never welcome there.
The prisoners welter out
their own brand of punishment for them.
14 November 2009
poem by David Harris
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Every Child!
the faces of...
every child who'll
go to bed hungry tonite...
every child afraid to sleep
for fear of the soldiers,
the bullets, the bombs....
every child abused
by his parents...
every child humiliated
for being different.
every child who's never
known his own father...
every child with no hope
for an education...
every child sleeping
in homeless cars.
every child alone,
lonely, without love.
every child of every broken home,
every child, every color, every country...
staring at me this sleepless night,
tearing at my heart...
all my children!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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To the one who stole my poem
I had this poem
it was a particular poem
made many cry
told my story
to the person who is using my account
which i used to post my poem
which had been deleted from my computer
and only existed here in cyberspace
to this person
who added his/her poems to my name
i hope you, as a fellow poet
understand how a poem nursed
is not dissimilar to a child
i lost my child,
my poem.
if you have it please put it back
the name was 'father'
if you deleted it please write a poem
in this poem tell me that you have
i just need to know if my baby Poem is dead forever
or if it lives on your hard drive
poem by Anonymous Anonymous
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem Is Just A Poem
a poem is just a poem and if it is just a poem
it must be just a poem just like another poem
a poem is nothing but just a poem otherwise
it cannot be my poem; it may speak about
anything, or something, or about everything,
but my poem is just a poem just like anybody's
poem, which is just but a poem, like any other
poem, for a poem to be a poem it must just be
a poem: it has nothing to do with my love, and death
my life, or bliss, but as i have told you, once, twice
thrice, eat some rice, and be that wise, a poem is
just a poem, just like your poem. Why do you insist
on asking, what is happening to me? I am not a
poem, for i am but just the composer of the poem,
need i tell you again, that a poem is just a poem?
just like any other poem, which is just a poem
it is just a voice in my head that i have heard
someone comes and speaks and i listen so
this poem is not actually my poem but the poem
of someone else's: theirs not mine, from a mind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Prayer On Child Abuse
Dear God Above
Bless the children that need your love
Bless the lives that are about to end
Caused by a stranger, relative, or even a friend
Children sometimes become confused
That's no reason for them to be abused
Children shouldn't be considered a game,
Nor should your child feel shame
To play with their favorite toy
Like any other girl or boy
Child abuse is a serious crime
But it happens all of the time
If the child is too much trouble
Please send help there on the double
Please don't take the child away
Because someone got angry today
But if these precious children should have to die
Please take them to your home in the sky.
poem by Ginny Cadle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What We Teach Our Children By: Cay Thorne
If a child sees abuse in any form -
They will become abusers in any form;
If a child sees love;
They become lovers and romantics at heart
If a child sees loyalty and trust;
They know how to be loyal and trustworthy.
If a child sees hatred to all things and humans
They will live without love and kindness.
If a child knows encouragement and praise;
They will show encouragement and praise to all.
If a child sees peace and happiness;
They will show love and happiness to all mankind.
If a child sees violence;
They learn to be violent to anything and everything.
If a child sees bullying at home as a victim;
They become a criminal to satisfy the hunger.
If a child sees charity;
They learn to show charity to others.
If a child sees you help others in need;
They become helpers to all in need.
If a child learns how to be raciest in all forms of the word;
They WILL learn the true meaning of racism and hatred –
Which shows non of the virtues;
That we need to live with to stop;
All the kinds of EVIL in this world today.
If a child sees all the virtues that are out there in the world today;
They will show these virtues to all mankind and no matter who the person is.
poem by Cay Thorne
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The Poem Of All The Places I Have Never Been
THE POEM OF ALL THE PLACES I HAVE NEVER BEEN
The poem of all the places I have never been
The poem of all the dreams I have not seen
The poem of others poems written in lines I have never imagined
The poem of the infinite – what-is- not and ‘what- will- never- be
The poem of seas and suns and sounds and Shakespeare’s sonnets,
The poem of words and only words whose sounds do not mean what we feel
The poem of all I would not and cannot write
The poem that is not and never will be in me
The poem I do not write
The poem I am not
The poem lost
The poem which itself is not a poem
The poem of the last contradiction and the first
The poem beyond the poem hidden within the poem
The poem which will never be a poem
The poem which is not
The poem I cannot dream.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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God Help The Children
the abused
the battered
the beaten
the molested
the raped
the murdered.
I see them daily
in the newspapers
on the tv screen
in the streets
innocent faced and pure
stained by the sins of their elders.
This is not what life promised them.
Cover their faces
place their tiny bodies
in tiny coffins
bury them in tiny graves
while their mothers weep.
We should all be weeping
Do not blame only their abusers
the ones who beat them
molested them
raped them
tortured them
killed them.
Blame us all.
A country that cannot look after its children
has no right to call itself free.
God save the children-
God save us all.
poem by Gillian Commerford
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This Poem
THIS POEM
This poem
This first poem
This last poem
This poem that invented Poetry
This one and only one poem
This fictional poem
This ideal poem
This perfect poem
This would – be holy poem
This unreal poem
This poem which is not a poem
This poem which is the essence of all poetry
This poem
And that poem
And my poem
And your poem
And all poems
Poem poem poem poem poem
This poem
Mine and yours
This one small poem of so so many
And not such a good poem at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem That Perhaps Never Should Have Been Written
THE POEM THAT PERHAPS NEVER SHOULD HAVE BEEN WRITTEN
Not the poem of yesterday
Nor the poem of tomorrow
But the poem of today-
What gives life meaning now.
Not the poem as it is read
But the poem as it is written.
Not the certain poem
But the poem that does not know
If it truly is a poem.
The poem that gives hope only when it is written-
The lesser poem-
The poem that perhaps never should have been written.
The poem I am writing now,
Perhaps for myself alone
The lesser poem
The poem that perhaps should never have been at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Time Swiftly Passes By
this morning
i see the child that
he carried
at noontime
the child is a man
anchored to his arms
a pregnant woman
at night
i hear the coughs of same
man same child
same memory
ah, time swiftly passes by
my poem about
him
has become
a brown page
the letters fade
the words
crumple turn to dust
and blown
by the skirts of time
to a never ending horizon
to an open ended
question
of where to
and why
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Poem.
I do not like the silly poem,
I do not like the angsty poem,
I do not like the ridiculous poem,
I do not like the damned poem,
I do not like the cheesy poem,
I do not like the random poem,
Or the epic poem,
Or the dandy poem,
Or the long poem,
Or the short poem,
Or the stupid poem,
Or the rude poem,
Or the useless poem,
Or the wordless poem,
Or the poem poem,
Or the poem poem's daughter,
Or the word, Poem,
I like the story.
poem by Aisha Patterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poem.
I do not like the silly poem,
I do not like the angsty poem,
I do not like the ridiculous poem,
I do not like the damned poem,
I do not like the cheesy poem,
I do not like the random poem,
Or the epic poem,
Or the dandy poem,
Or the long poem,
Or the short poem,
Or the stupid poem,
Or the rude poem,
Or the useless poem,
Or the wordless poem,
Or the poem poem,
Or the poem poem's daughter,
Or the word, Poem,
I like the story.
poem by David Carter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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