Help me, God.

Come one, come all,
Come willingly to service.
Come embrace the lengthy arms
Of our loving God.

So he came, he served,
And he put forth all his faith,
And he took the wine and bread,
And sung to God.

And he prayed every night,
And forgiven of his sins,
He prayed for protection,
From his God.

And he prayed, and he sung,
As domestic life turned rough,
And he wondered, in his strife,
Tis the will of God.?

No older than fourteen,
Shattered were his dreams,
When he ran onto the streets,
Hoping to God.

He took relief in poison,
And he prayed for his forgiveness,
Or for any chance of saviour,
From his God.

Alone he was in prayer,
Cold, Hungry, in despair,
In rough territory, no repair,
He questioned God.

And so, on the streets alone,
With his poison, overthrown,
In the clutches of the cold,
He screamed to God.

Come and feel the torture,
Of a kid living on the streets,
Dying on the streets,
Hating god.

Writers Note- This was written to emphasise life for a young person of the streets, and the helplessness of it. No hate on the big man. He just happened to be in my subject. Religion can be a touchy subject. Thank-you.