An American Child
By: Lawrence W Langman (c)
I held on tight to
my last dream.
The ages pass
like raging streams.
What once was held
a golden rule.
Our common sense
applied a tool.
We try to erase 
a child's scorn.
From the streets
where poverty's born.
His stomach screams
with aches and pains.
His pockets lined
just lint remains.
Through the loopholes
he has fell.
No parties thrown
or fairy tales.
No helping hands
to lift him up.
Some simple change
in a paper cup.
Too many times
we're too late.
As pedophiles
use as bait.
We've fail them all
yet them we blame.
 From the fires we
rig the games.
A commercial asks
to give to a charity.
Children overseas 
in such disparity.
How about the ones
that roam our streets.
The actual ones 
you just might meet.
We need to clean up
our own back yards.
Before this country
crumbles like cards.