Who stare at photographers from behind barbed wire, Who can't bound down the street in a new pair of sneakers, Who never "counted potatoes," Who are born in places where we wouldn't be caught dead, Who never go to the circus, Who live in an X-rated world.

Who bring us sticky kisses and fistfuls of dandelions, Who hug us in a hurry and forget their lunch money.

Who never get dessert, Who have no security blanket to drag behind them, Who watch their parents watch them die, Who can't find any bread to steal, Who don't have any rooms to clean up, Whose pictures aren't on anybody's dresser, Whose monsters are real.

Whose nightmares come in the daytime, Who will eat anything, Who have never seen a dentist, Who aren't spoiled by anybody, Who go to bed hungry and cry themselves to sleep, Who live and move, but have no being.

In the heart of a child, Our future's waiting there. They're playing, free, and wild, Nothing but time to share Laughter and innocence, They live naturally With no need of defense, They spend time happily.

In alleys, yards and parks, Their laughter and delight Send out radiant sparks That shine into the night.

These innocent children Hold the world in their hand When grown to women - men. We should all understand, In the heart of a child, Our future's waiting there. To keep them sweet and mild, Should be our constant prayer.

If there was no such thing as abuse, That leaves a child scarred and confused. If their life is not violently taken, Their souls are forever horribly shaken. Their innocents robbed, they’re no longer the same, No one should endure such heartache and pain.

They should be free to run and play, No stranger at the park to steal them away. A little child lead by the hand, “Help me find my dog.” Said the bad man. Off she goes, not knowing what’s in store, A stranger has taken a child once more. Will she be found before it’s too late? If there was no such thing as child abuse, ...wouldn’t it be great?

At least at home they should be fine, But dad just got in, and he’s the drinking kind. Mom’s no help, ‘cause she’s on dope, How can we expect the child to cope? Will he be helped before it’s too late? If there was no such thing as child abuse, ...wouldn’t it be great?

Why do they say the things that they do? Why do they act the way that they act? Why do they put the blame on everyone but themselves? Can't they realize what they are doing? Can they even see?

Or are they too busy worrying about what people will think, Or what people will say. Is it because they don't feel responsible? Because that they think they had nothing to do with it? Because they feel exempt?

But are they really exempt? Do they really have to pawn off the blame on others? Do they feel that because someone makes a mistake Or does something not near perfect That everything from there on is their doing Or their fault?

Is this what it has come down to? That no one can fend for themselves anymore? Yes, they do, sometimes; But for the most part they don't. They are too busy ranting and raving to see To even care about what they are doing.

And why do they say those words? Those words that cause such pain Those words that cause such heartache, And sorrow. Do they realize what they are doing? Or are they too stressed to care?

Have they even a clue as to how those words can hurt? Do they feel the coldness The ripping of flesh as they roll of their tounge? Can they see that their words are weapons? Do they even care what they can do? A word can cause as much pain As that of a bullet tearing through your lungs.

Have they seen all those tears? All those emotions unsteadily pouring From those windows of truth The windows to the soul Those once blue eyes That are now colored with grey.

Why do they do such things? Why must the agony continue? Why can't it stop? Because they feel superior. But yet again they are wrong. Yes, wrong. Is that word even a part of their vocabulary? Do they even know what it means?

I wonder once more If they have ever stopped to think. Not of their problems and sins, Not of their excuses, Not of their stress, But of the victims.