Poetry
The Forgotten Children of History
The ones who never were
Younger generations, the leaders of tomorrow Our hope for a better day. Born with so much promise We love, we nurture, We support and care for them. With the hope that they will fulfill their potential And perhaps be memorialised.
How about the kids that would never be? The ones that will not be remembered, Potential unfulfilled, because of hiccups when growing up. From budding with possibility To eternally being cast away, How about the forgotten children of history?
When I was 16, I was a top student Very athletic, my coaches said I had promise, I dreamt of getting drafted Worked hard at ever practice. One day, I was in the park with my friends And they convinced me to smoke some weed Peer pressure, the happenings of growing up. I was hesitant, but then I tried it Just this one time, I told myself. A police car was passing by Probably searching for people like me Eager to meet their monthly arrests, As such is the pressure of their job. It pulled up, right next to us We tried to run, but were boxed in Aggressively wrestled, and slammed to the ground Before we knew it, our wrists were cuffed. That is how my life came to an end Because of a mistake I made At the age of 16. I am a forgotten child, I write to you as a grown man Disenfranchised, in a prison cell.
I never really existed I might have had potential But I never thought to think about it. A future, or a better life My present life deterred me, I did not know if there could be better or worse All I knew was my situation, my undeniable misery. The world was a mystery, Happiness and luxury, were unknown entities, Dreaming was not for me, being hopeful was mythical It seemed like a fantasy, something from distant lands A place where I might have had a chance To perhaps be, worthy of history. But my surroundings did not allow me I never knew nurturing, I was born broken, An early death, was an inevitability. I am a forgotten child, I write to you, from the other side Where cursed souls lay eternally.
I wonder what history holds For these forgotten souls, Subjected to damnation In a world, that does not care for them. Wrong place, at the wrong time Translating to an entire future denied. Or a victim of environment Brought up in a culture of neglect, Once threatening to bloom and blossom And perhaps even be fruitful, Never to pass their budding phase Because of lack of care and nurturing. How a promising life Leads to an early grave.
What will become of them? Does heaven exist For the forgotten children of history? The ones who never Had a chance to prove their worthiness Their viability, to see heaven's gates. I wonder, what would be God’s decision? Would their life be considered, their unending torment? Would they be automatically selected Because of their circumstance? It would be truly cruel, to subject them to damnation After the life they went through. Then again, it was not their fault They were born to misfortune, So if their existence on the earth was damned Why should their afterlife be any different? These are just thoughts, I propose Observing a world imbalanced.
Thank you for reading, thanks to Susan Brearley for providing my words a platform here at Contemplate.






