Who's watching the kids, those who cry silently and unseen, filled with seething agony and deep dark despair, their place of chaos does not fit with the rest.

These are the ones who are lost along the way, they seek to fill an empty space, that place abandoned by those who should care, the scene then set, now victims for scripts written without embrace, the journey begun to violent ends.

Who's watching the kids, those who cry alone at night, the dry tears blocking clear sights, the light is out, it was never on, the scream unheard, there is no one to hear, disorder descends to claim the dispirited soul.

These are the ones who gradually appear, the mask of sweet childhood melts away, only scars remain where beauty might have laid, their spirit ready made for villains to claim.

Who's watching the kids, those who have no bounds, empty vessels, seeking to believe, but find no relief, the clues arise, but go unseen, joy and happiness now missing from the scene.

These are the ones where tenderness does not reside, love is set aside, care is not there, sadness gives way to anger and gloom, the shadows of danger now lurking in the air.

Who's watching the kids, those where fantasy rises to reality, they find powerful voices at play to become the idol, projective acts now are the masters of the way, self destruction the only remedy to unshackle the terrible binding and hurtful ties.

Who will watch the kids, who will stop, look and listen to the children, some are doing and saying an awful lot.