A small child waits

A small child waits

A small child waits

Amidst the shadows of a third world
country, a small child waits
He waits for a sense of freedom in his vast option of
space.
Beneath the billows of smoke under a broken bridge, he searches
for security.
As he captures the heat from the remaining flames of debris, he
thinks about love what it must be.
To be wrapped in a pair of strong arms that hold you because they
care.
That hold you secure from the dangers outside, and always want
you near.
How must it feel to not be afraid, and rest in the comfort of a
mothers embrace.
To feel the gentle pat of a proud fathers affection upon his
fragile back.
To have a path to choose in life, a destiny to follow.
To relax in the assurance of a blessing and support and have
someone else to share the load.

Amongst the slums of a hopeless
city, a small child waits.
She waits for a sense of freedom in her frightful world of
usury.
She searches for security in a boisterous crowd of pornography,
where she is
Helplessly thrust around to satisfy another’s hollow
world.
She begins to think that this is love, in her dark, dingy shelter
of fear.
She finds no resting-place of hope and belonging, to be
peacefully apart of, is there anyone to care?

These children have a future, they
deserve to have a life
An unlucky start, their future can be refined.
In our world of comfort and security, let us remember these
children.
In the shadow of darkness, their vulnerable eyes shed tears of
confusion and hunger.
The torment of this fierce, insecure world suffocates their
innocent lives.
As you lay upon the warmth of a cosy bed, complaining of no sleep
because your stomach was overfed.
As you huddle inside by the fire, sheltered from the rain and
violent torrents of a corrupt, heartless world.
When you moan for lack of money, to satisfy your desires, or for
having to travel a few miles away without even lifting a
leg.
As you complain of an over protective family, or having to eat
unfavourable food served for the nurture of your
well-being.
Remember the ones less fortunate, who would find life in a small
part that was given to you.
As you gaze upon the hills of fresh, green pasture and watch the
colours of a new day rise upon the land, remember that far
beyond, in the gloom of despair, lives a precious being who like
you, was formed in the Fathers own hand.