In Memory of Ryan, a beautiful child,who fell victim to the abuse
rendered at the hands of a junkie. His mother, a vicitm of this dread
disease is currently incarcerated as an accessory to his death. This
poem was written by her a day or so after she was incarcerated. I have
been in contact with Wendy. Her hope is that her story will help someone
else change their life before anything like this happens to them. Wendy is now
in recovery, living "ONE DAY AT A TIME." My prayers are with you Wendy.
GUARDIAN ANGEL

Last night I had a dream
It had a tale to tell,
I dreamed I saw an angel
Poor thing, he wasn't well.
His body bruised and battered
His wings were ripped and torn,
This Angel could hardly walk,
He looked so tired and worn.
I walked right up to him
"Angel"? How can this be???
He turned around and paused a bit...
Then he spoke these words to me.
I'm your guardian Angel.
A great task as you can see.
You've run a muck all your life,
Look what it's done to me.
These bruises are from shielding you
In time both dire and ill.
Those dangerous drugs you've used
I often paid the bill.
You see my wings are ripped and torn.
A noble badge I wore,
How often they have flown you
From the evils and the horror.
Each mark is its own story,
Of deadly wounds destroyed.
You made me wish more than once,
That I was unemployed!
If only you could make it
On your own...
Oh, don't you fret or worry
You'll not be left alone.

By Wendy Luke Feb. 1996

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