• And it wasn’t before long,
    That it all was gone,
    The laughter and joy,
    Turned to fear and sorrow,
    The little boy,
    Laughing hysterically,
    Staring,
    At the cold, full moon.
    For this was the loss of his innocence.

    For his father had died,
    Before his very eyes,
    Killed in cold blood,
    Lynched by a white man gang.
    His mother’s blood smeared on his hands,
    Body limp and torn in his cradle,
    Fell victim too,
    To treachery.
    No one beside him,
    To shield him,
    As soot flew unto his face.
    For this was the loss of his innocence.

    The wooden supports,
    Crackling and burning,
    Taking their time, slowly,
    To fall.
    And time seemed slow,
    And the boy was like a little doe,
    Surrounded by flame, ashes and soot.
    To share the same fate,
    Of his dead beloved.
    For this was the loss of his innocence.

    For this was,
    The last day of a young boy’s life.