Lost souls

Broken and scarred,
The ghosts of children walk
Upon this earth.
To the psychosis
Off their makers,
They wander lost.
Breaking themselves
In patterns taught
From infancy.
They bleed the blood
And live the life
Pasted onto them.
They are the
Hansels and Gretals
Abandoned in the woods.
The lost ones,
The hungry
Their fate
Decided by creators
Claiming to act in love
But instead
Craving acceptance
From the world.
Forgetting that this
Their creation
Deserves their
Acceptance first.
But how much more important
Is the blessing
From the priest?
And so
Blood ties
Is thrown away
For a need
To be seen
As standing up
For other peoples
You create
The self devouring cannibals,
Create them by thoughts
You carved
Onto their minds
As facts.
In the rejection
They have learned
To do the same.
In meeting hate
They too have come
To loath, despise
And so in being wounded
They now draw the knife
Up the arms
Across the neck
As self fulfilling
They are the ghosts.
The shadows
Of a life now blighted.
Crucified and vilified
So others might
Find some acceptance
From the herd.
You claim to want
To save their souls
So why would you choose
To create them
For your gods?



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