The News
I am sitting here lookin at a paper
that reads something along the lines of
Britney : Where is Mommy now?
I laugh to myself,
not a humorous one.
A laugh that only comes from a place where...
well it was just a laugh.
Walking outside from that very paper I saw a little girl,
she looked at me, vacant eyes and a desperate attitude.
The scabs on her knees,
the hollows of her eyes tells me all I need to know.
This girls night had just begun.
I laugh.
Looking up at a silhouetted sky,
shadowed by clouds in the shape of hands.
I wonder if He is seeing all this.
I wonder if His hands are just covering up what isnt noticed.
I wonder if we have done Him wrong.
I laugh.
I end up at a destination I did not have in mind.
Seeing the pictures of people who will never know my name
But sure as hell or high water, I know theirs.
lined up looking at me,
like a firing squad.
So,
I stand there, seeing new age prophets
and modern minstrels,
when I see the girl get in a car with a man much older than myself.
Standing there under a darkened sky,
in the midst of black tops and rooftops,
in the midst of Ambiguous pursuit of the Almighty Dollar,
in His name.
In the midst of all this I stand there,
looking at that girl cry out,
something expected.
But there were no tears of desperation.
Tears of familiarity between the two exude,
Tears of the same identity and source.
This hollowed person is 15 years young again.
and her father has come
to deliver her from her own personal boogie man.
Seeing the two drive away from the coming shadows,
into a new light, I stand there.
Looking at Britney,
looking at Tom,
and of course George.
I see something out of the corner of my eye.
Gentle eyes being held by even gentler hands.
The names I do not know,
but the sentiment, although old to me,
still familiar.
It says something like Home Again,
or was it Hope?
I pick up the overlooked paper,
I start home, reading the over looked words,
and forgotten sentiments.
Standing there, under moonlit streets,
false prophets and modern fools.
I look up and see the shadows have parted,
and the sky is seen.
Only so long for things to go unnoticed,
before they are brought to the light.
So,
standing there admist steel giants,
black tops and rooftops,
of careless eyes and ambiguous notions.
I look to the paper with the gentle eyes,
and I remember the little girl...
I Laugh.
that reads something along the lines of
Britney : Where is Mommy now?
I laugh to myself,
not a humorous one.
A laugh that only comes from a place where...
well it was just a laugh.
Walking outside from that very paper I saw a little girl,
she looked at me, vacant eyes and a desperate attitude.
The scabs on her knees,
the hollows of her eyes tells me all I need to know.
This girls night had just begun.
I laugh.
Looking up at a silhouetted sky,
shadowed by clouds in the shape of hands.
I wonder if He is seeing all this.
I wonder if His hands are just covering up what isnt noticed.
I wonder if we have done Him wrong.
I laugh.
I end up at a destination I did not have in mind.
Seeing the pictures of people who will never know my name
But sure as hell or high water, I know theirs.
lined up looking at me,
like a firing squad.
So,
I stand there, seeing new age prophets
and modern minstrels,
when I see the girl get in a car with a man much older than myself.
Standing there under a darkened sky,
in the midst of black tops and rooftops,
in the midst of Ambiguous pursuit of the Almighty Dollar,
in His name.
In the midst of all this I stand there,
looking at that girl cry out,
something expected.
But there were no tears of desperation.
Tears of familiarity between the two exude,
Tears of the same identity and source.
This hollowed person is 15 years young again.
and her father has come
to deliver her from her own personal boogie man.
Seeing the two drive away from the coming shadows,
into a new light, I stand there.
Looking at Britney,
looking at Tom,
and of course George.
I see something out of the corner of my eye.
Gentle eyes being held by even gentler hands.
The names I do not know,
but the sentiment, although old to me,
still familiar.
It says something like Home Again,
or was it Hope?
I pick up the overlooked paper,
I start home, reading the over looked words,
and forgotten sentiments.
Standing there, under moonlit streets,
false prophets and modern fools.
I look up and see the shadows have parted,
and the sky is seen.
Only so long for things to go unnoticed,
before they are brought to the light.
So,
standing there admist steel giants,
black tops and rooftops,
of careless eyes and ambiguous notions.
I look to the paper with the gentle eyes,
and I remember the little girl...
I Laugh.