From dusk ’till dawn
in shadows lurk,
Temptations desperate to be born.
In streets of sin
dark twisted times,
The wretched prowl
live worthless lives.
They buy and sell
no price too low,
Degraded with permissions set.
No want too high
no need too small,
Our souls to buy
to use, destroy.
On knees we fall
our heads bowed low,
While hopes are sent to who knows where.
A gasp, a groan,
the pleasure gone,
Each faceless child,
society’s son.
Reah Roberts ©2010
Tales From Behind A Cushion 
worked to help these people before
“no need to small” Hey a lovely poem but with a typeo? So what do you think it means?
Ah cheers for pointing that out Jim…Should really proof read before publishing ;o)
The last stanza almost looks as though the man feels guilty for his actions.
Nice one. I like it.