Africa's Little Ones Poem by kharon march

How alone am I. Blanketed by obscurity cast into the world to do little more then die.
Born among-st the carnage brought about by the fray, little love was found and when it was it would not last nor stay.
I sit solemnly in silence while pain grips my heart, while I bare disdain and avarice for the life I did not choose to start.
What more can be said no other words can be uttered in armament for someone already conceived dead. I am A child born of African decent Battered and bruised by the country with whom I lent my everything!