Tonight somewhere a child cries
not the one upstairs,
which will quickly be attended to
But somewhere far away
out of reach.
Choking sobs in an alley way
or under blanket in a bed.
Somewhere they are crying,
of hurts that run deep
and course through their veins.
Does anyone even hear?
Even though mirrors deceive
they are still someone's child
and in the deep recesses of their heart
long to beheld once more
in secure hands.
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