Scared and confused,
In a dark, unfriendly place,
Annie was all alone,
A tear rolled down her face,
Her cries so sad,
Bouncing off the concrete walls,
But no one could hear,
The little child’s calls,
The room she was confined in,
With walls a deep, gloomy gray,
Only had a small bucket,
And a mattress; where she now lay,
She must have doused off,
For she was startled awake,
By the jingle of keys,
And a doorknob’s shake,
Entered a man in his forties,
With a smile he extended his arm,
He said to Annie, “My dear,
I will not cause you harm,
“Please do not scream this time,
My Annie, and if your good today,
I’ll let you have some dinner,
Now come on, there’s a game I want to play.”
Poor, little, Annie,
Knew his awful game,
It hurt her inside and out,
Every time was the same,
But one day after his game,
Annie began to cry,
He got angry and hit her,
The very next day he got her eye,
Damaged and badly bruised,
Annie was slowly dying,
All she wanted was her mother,
For her, she had to keep trying,
So as the child faded,
From life and also her mothers love,
She didn’t know an angel,
Was watching from above,
Hard banging on the door,
That held little Annie within,
Caused the door to open,
Just as she about to give in,
The police and Annie’s mother,
Stormed in and rushed to the child,
Her body was weak,
But she managed to speak and smiled,
“An angle told me you were coming,
So I never gave up on you,
Mommy I know you’ll miss me,
And I will miss you too.”
Annie lay limp in her mother’s arms,
Her mother softly cried,
Robbed of life itself,
Annie, had quietly died…

Writing by Leah Backstrom copywrite 2009.