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Walking Through Life.
They walk along the lonely street,

Every now and then stop to rest their feet.
Hair all matted and fingernails black
And carrying their life upon their back.
That shop doorway looks good
Or that sheltered bench,
To get out of the rain before they get drenched.
God love them these people have nowhere to go,
Hoping for help but no-one wants to know.
Poor rejects of life’s rich tapestry,
Walk through life without hope, wearily.
What is the purpose, where will it end?
No home, no job, no family or friends.
James Lamb

In Dreams.
While I sleep I have no fear,

Nor hope, nor trouble, nor glory.
God bless the inventor of sleep,
The cloak that covers all man’s thoughts,
The food that cures all hunger,
The water that quenches all thirst,
The fire that warms the cold,
The cold that cools the heart.
The common coin, in short,
That can purchase all things.
The balancing weight that levels
The shepherd with the king,
And the simple with the wise.
Miguel de Cervantes

The Man I’m Becoming.
There is a person that I know,
Who’s helped me find the way to go.
The tools I’ve been given will do just fine,
Though using them all is gonna take time.
The man I’m becoming is strong and true,
And when he is whole the struggle he’s through.
But without this person and the others around,
I know that the new man I would not have found.
So this poem I dedicate to all those who,
Helped me to find the right thing to do.
Even though all the time the answers were there,
I would not have found them without those who care.
So when on your journey if you ever should meet,
This person who helped me to make self complete.
Spare them a thought for the way that they care,
The way that they give and help you to share.
I know that this rhyme is rather mushy,
Sort of soppy and rather slushy.
But I don’t care what you may think,
You would know what I mean if you’ve been on the brink.
My journey is long, and the road far from straight,
And the first step has been to open my gate.
So thank you to you and what you have done,
For now I am the person, Parent, Adult and Son.
Alan Payne.

Milly’s Poem.
I don’t know what it is I do,
They all just seem to hate me,
All they do is slag me off
And force everyone else against me.
I know I am pathetic and helpless
And I know I am not pretty or fit
But what do they have that I haven’t?
Let’s face it I’m totally shit
And I know what people think.
I know how they feel.
Why the fuck, I don’t know.
What do I do to make them hate me?
Maybe I should just go.
Sometimes I think how life would be
Without me for Mum and Dad,
To have a beautiful little girl
Who is like Gemma.
She would be everything I am not,
Everything I dream to be –
Pretty, smart, intelligent, wanted, loved.
But then I hit myself
And wake up to reality
And how bad school’s going to be.
I hate it but not nearly as much as I hate myself.
Milly Dowler, 1989-2002

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