The scenery fades away with every step he takes.
Nothing feels real, but the Glock in his hand.
Nothing feels real, but the Glock in his hand.
Oh if he could hide, or only shed a tear.
If allowed he would run, though he knows no fear.
Seasons may shift, presidents may change.
But no one ever knew how he slips away.
Every job he sought for, he was deemed unfit.
Over something stupid that he did as a kid.
That was then, this is now and he’s got two kids,
Pair of blue eyes and little miss sunshine.
Though the one who brought’em here wouldn’t even give a dime.
Up and disappeared, not worthy of a single line.
None of that would have mattered if the pockets got fatter.
But the kids need to eat, and he still loses sleep.
Plus, in the same face, they seek a mother and a father.
And on the edge of insanity, a scale is in place.
Years of disappointment form a mountain to the left,
And on to the right, two pairs of eyes, staring at his face.
The best part of he’s life is coming home at night.
Not cuz after two jobs he can have some rest.
Because of their smiles and that which then starts racing in his chest.
For that same simple reason he would struggle with no end,
And for the same reason there’s a gun in his hand.
A plan in his mind and a crime justified.
(c) Outspoken Poet
Labels: Poetry
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