None ever told me, I was a precious child
It wasn't long that the cold seed of hatred assailed love
To be born in hell
And raised with malice.
The love I knew so tender, torn to shreds
Left alone to wonder whom have I any wrong done
When in constant torment marked an outcast
As one barnished to dwell among the filth and damned.
Dark times those were that gone by
When neither the Christian God nor the old heathen deities heed my desperate cry
Left abandoned to freeze in silent but rampant struggle.
Had i been born and thus raised in heaven
And told that Am a precious child
Raised with love and warm affection
I would have turned out different.
For only now am I a rose, nursed not in a posh garden
Rather in the wild, upon a bare vulcanic rock
Then crawled to a hard earned scorching surface of a hunted refuge
A hell where the light burns even a man's flesh like a raging zombie virus.
Still lingering for your soft voice to say am your precious child.
Death to the abuse of children in the world.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem