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American Dream
Across the land of plenty
With its amber waves of grain
There are masquerading children
Who disguise lives of pain
Oh, little waifs of solomn mein
Or listless countenance
Tiptoe around the edge of life
In wide-eyed vigilance
Insomniac children sit awake
Sleepless in the night
Though they have no fear of darkness
Nor affinity for light
But they hide in wakeful multitudes
From the truth that haunts their dreams
That their childhood sky has fallen
In a rain of tiny screams
They are wounded refugees from life
They've paid horrendous tolls
They have perforated spirits
And lacerated souls
Those charged with their protection
Were AWOL from their post
The ones that should have nurtured
Drove the blades that cut the most
The cavalry's not coming
There's no hero for their cause
The family home is a family hell
And there is no Santa Clause
The lives they lead are fraught with hurt
They stumble through the dance
With each misstep they lose more hope
And gain more despondence
For the people of the towns
Avert their gaze when they walk by
(Prob'ly nothing happened
God! I wish they wouldn't cry)
Thus the children stagger on through life
Some grow up though scarred and torn
Too many falter on the way
Alone, they die unmourned
Now for the happy ending
For the pithy moral quote
I looked but couldn't find one
So this was all I wrote
~ Edwin ~
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