You may live your life
asleep at the wheel,
never to realize the
reasons you may feel,
happy or sad,
normal or bad.
Just a regular person,
working too hard
to make ends meet,
for there you find
sanctuary in your routine.
In this web of life,
we are only a strand,
take away one part
and the web can't stand.
This is a poem
for the government.
This is a poem
for the compassionate.
It's time for the
leaders to hear,
the golden rule
must replace the fear.
What's done to you
is done to me.
The people must lead
for the leaders to see.
You think we
would have learned
from all the wars fought,
countries and bodies burned
at such a fatal cost.
They say that the Lord
works in mysterious ways,
so says the system,
to justify what
it does everyday.
It's a program for sure,
a paradigm at its best.
Looked at from
another perspective
begins to disturb their nest.
Over worked
and down trodden,
the one standing in the rain.
Was his life chosen,
or merely an act in vain?
Do we ignore like a store
on a fancy avenue?
If it pours, it stays its days
on street corner blues.
The saxophone blows
in storm colored hues.
Melodrama of three,
a boy, a man, a ghost.
Everyday, the dawn,
the night, come to boast,
of their friend, the number,
standing on the street corner.
People pass on by,
only to laugh,
thinking he's a crazy stoner.
With eyes that start
to believe the lies,
nothing to do but cry,
for theories of
relativity hold no hope
for this street guy.
Is it irony, or fairytale,
on the streets of Babylon?
Because the sun still rises,
even after the
street guy is gone.
Martin Luther King
walked his peaceful line,
and he sang to his children,
"children, all in due time."
A vision for the future,
an example of how to live.
A candle in this world,
is what he had to give.
I say, listen, listen to
the falling rain.
No worries, if you
missed the message,
because here comes
the message again....