I wonder as I stare, was God ever fair?

Brought up in the backs of buildings, Living lives inside broken alleys, To fight and die Beneath the city’s leathered feet. Like the trash Spilling from the overflowed dumpster, No one will bother to pick him up. He would have been the one to end the scam of disease. He would have saved the owls, the skies, and the trees. He would have stopped tomorrow’s terrorist, Instead he lives a life not fair nor blessed. Now a boy strides by, About 15, his hair cut and with a few piercings, To scream a statement He is not yet sure of. And a headphone almost naturally (almost more natural than once was his umbilical cord) Attached to his ear. His thumbs deftly hump the keys of his cell phone And he wears a fresh pair of Nikes With 7 grams of dope Sitting in his pocket. He drop out of school, Lose his job, Smoke til he drops, Get drunk, And smash the life out of an innocent mother and her child Crossing the street. Their faces Paint the road Red. Their short-lived cries Give the night a soundtrack To this unjust, depressing theme. While the bastards behind these buildings Don’t even know, Can’t even know, That this prick Will never suffer. Like them.