Him
Letters create words,
Words create sentences.
Paragraphs create a story,
A story of a little boy,
A little boy, but three,
His mother didn't realize he was miserable to be free.
His eyes express sadness,
with blood at his feet.
His bruises ace with black and blue,
A bum for a father he rarely knew.
He wishes his brother wasn't a thug,
He wishes his mother could give him a hug.
He wishes his family could give him love.
I wish I could have a real family. He said.
He wishes he wasn't here, he wish he was dead.
His sorrow is surrounded by a puddle of red,
"My spirits still here in the life I lived,
May I please get relief in the pain I dread."
NPOV
Hope you like this one. The votes for simple is being counted now! If you want to participate then come on in the quessing game of which turtle you think the poem expresses. Here are thhe votes:
Leo: 3
Mikey: 1
Raphael: 0
Donatello:1
"Please tell me if any of these votes are incorrect."
