Hollywood sold me a story
When I was a young Boy. A tale of
Family, Caring, Love and Sharing.
What’s that Morning Sound?
As I yawn from My bed?
The running of little feet but not of
Playful Children so Sweet. It’s the
Pitter-patter of furry rats looking for a morning treat,
Maybe a bite to eat?
Where are my tree lined streets and
Mrs. Cleaver with Her breakfast sweets?
I look around and hear the sound
Of Naked City Streets.
Yells, Sirens, Bullets whizzing past,
Bodies lying on the Ground.
Not a Tree or a Smile to be found.
Just Sad faces looking to the Ground.
Searching for that missing
Peace, Love & Happiness.
I know it’s somewhere Around?