You think you know

a child
imagination wild
poverty stricken
soup became chicken
scared of the dark
where nuns hark
God is gonna get you
for the bad things you do
lonely soul
empty hole
read books
studied crooks
wanted to be one
needed a gun
killed a man at ten
would do it again
sister bleeds
from uncles needs
the child is retarded
needs to be guarded
crippled woman says no
let him grow
takes him home
reads a poem
but he can't understand
anything but a back hand
so many stale beers
brought a life of tears
that were never shed
ducts beaten dead
it never mattered
whether vision was shattered
he could still see
reality
but obviously
you think you know me
yet you've no clue
what I've been though
nor do I
know what makes you cry...

tis true, cry happens

i liked the flowing nature of youre poem. Like a stream or river. lots of thingns to think about in a very deep way.

tis true, many never know what most have been through