Current affairs · depression · Iambic Pentometer · Life

Poor boy

.

Youths in the street, jostling all together

They laugh, they joke, hoodies any weather.

Phones out watching videos they have made

A boy, the last victim whom they had preyed.

Their last attack, fatal, a poor young boy

A pack, circled, to see blood spilt oh joy.

Grounded surrounded, begging for some help

Calling for mum, he cannot help himself.

His eyes, such fear, knowing he’s gonna die

The last, final gasp, as life leaves his eyes.

.

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.

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Phil lister 03/06/18

listerspoetry@gmail.com

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