Every year more and more young girls are lured to our shores by false promises
Lured by lies to a life of shame
On promises of jobs, men of wealth
Awaiting exotic love
The streets paved with grief
The gates of misery open
Herded, beaten, abused
Used for five-minute fucks
Shunt, grunt, come, go
Next one, on and on
No respite, arm-spiked junk
Keeps them dependent
Damaged goods, sold on
To someone less particular
Junkie whores soulless now
Blank eyes despise the world
Hurled abuse bounces off
Only the pain speaks now
Men prey, they pray
God send the day
That I die
Splitting wood, crashing doors
Armed police! Freeze!
Can’t comprehend it’s at an end
Helping hand bemuses
Confuses, the lucky ones live
How many whores
Are buried on the moors
How many daughters were slaughtered
What a wonderful description of the life on the street.It is so very sad, as some of those ladies
are deceived girls, who pay for it with their reputation and their life on occasions.I once wrote of such a lady, and a lady she was .(Look in archives,under Pommer, page three,”The Lady of the Night.”)Well done my friend,Be lucky, Peter.
Thank you, Peter, for the nomination and your kind comments. I read your poem. A harlot with a heart of gold eh? A nice angle and well told. You deserved your nib.
one of the saddest poems i’ve ever read sad like an angry sky about to rain.
Thank you, Nicoletta, It’s kind of you to comment., It is extremely sad that these activities go on in 2018 largely unchecked through lack of police personnel.
how many men and boys molested or whored and thrown away?
Many more than we ever get to hear about, I’m afraid. Thanks for your comment.