at my side they would walk,
while voices from the dead,
they would sometimes talk.
for memories can haunt one,
all through there life,
and mine had only seen,
so much turbulence and strife.
It was no bed of roses,
in the slums where i was born,
and just because of that fact,
there were some who would then scorn.
Mathematics and the three R's,
were something i never knew,
and through these many troubled years,
My friends were very few.
In the ring I would fight,
for a meagre purse,
and the pain which was suffered,
Brought many a curse.
The horrors of war,
were later seen,
but that stench of death,
It should never had been.
For mistakes which were made,
there would be a prison cell,
would my life ever change?
only time would tell.
But then at the end,
a new life was made,
for my prayers they were answered,
and these memories would fade.
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