open green expanse

 

Stop!!!!

I screamed,

across the green expanse,

You must not walk around,

caring that,

Tommy hawk in hand,

If the police see that mate,

your a goner mate.

 

The 11 year boy turned,

came directly towards me,

Tommy hawk clutched firmly,

at his side,

Fence between,

I was not scared of this boy,

I know him,

A pure soul,

A special spirit runs through his veins,

I know his family,

I know how much they love this young chap,

I have served him and his family,

In one way or other over 9 years.

 

He recognizes my voice,

he trusts that,

he comes right up to me,

I tell him,

you can't chase after that other boy,

caring that Tommy hawk,

He must go directly home,

quickly,

before its to late mate,

go directly home,

get ride of that Tommy hawk,

Never bring it out again mate.

 

He awakens,

from a fear induced,

coma of mind and soul,

awakens partial to his plight.

 

Who knows what these children,

have been smoking,

drinking,

but they have not had time,

they have only just left,

the school playground,

heading off home,

returning instantly,

this day,

with Tommy hawk in hand.

 

Burning desire to seek revenge,

on some matter known,

only to their child’s minds,

To get that older boy,

Running away down,

the other end,

of the open green expanse.

 

I mention to his child’s heart,

again,

if the police find him with,

that Tommy hawk,

in hand mate,

your a goner mate.

 

He now hears these words,

He fully awakes,

Turning on his heals and runs,

Runs back towards home and mum.

 

The other 11 year old boy,

standing there,

Mouthing off into the wind,

blowing in the direction,

of the fleeing youth.

 

This one has a bad streak,

long history of stirring,

manipulating,

threatening other boys,

towards violent and illegal acts,

on his behalf.

 

I yell at him,

tell him he had better get out of here,

Explaining he has no right,

to stir with his vile tongue,

Not knowing then,

he too was tooled up,

with a blade and bottle,

ready for attack.

 

What will become,

of these 11 year old children,

Will they be sweet fruit,

allowed to ripen,

on their own maturing fruit trees,

Able to bring beauty,

benefits to the whole of humanity,

Will they become dead branches,

Only fit for the fire,

when pruned from the “Tree of Life”,

Will they become a fallen leaf,

in the autumn wind,

blown where ever fear directs,

emotions molded by others desires,

or their own vain imaginings?

 

What else can I do,

but pray that their mums and dads,

and God,

can call them Home,

Pull them back,

away from the destiny of,

Oppression and poverty belt whippings,

illiteracies class divides,

Burning hell fires,

Fueled by revenge,

Nostrils filling,

with the stench of burning potentials,

rotting futures,

dreams of mothers and fathers hopes,

decaying in the gutters,

of history,

of man made

cruelties.

 

Despair biting at their heals,

running across that green expanse,

back home,

What toy will they play with tomorrow,

A gun…

Done