Knives & Forks

I grieve for the downcast that the decent don't see,
I believe in the desolate that cannot be,
Those who hide from a knock at their ramshackle door,
Whose body lies trembling on a carpetless floor.

A crack and a schism between body and mind,
A Psychic glue in madcap hope seeks to find.
The same that hope and the same that pray,
Distant childhood fade memories of play.

His high is the sun rising in a deep blue sky,
It seems so near yet it's too far to fly,
Bird song delivers dark and light, night and day,
And the urban fox fulfils expectation, scavenge and play.

I cry for the nobodies that the people don't see.
One once an everyman, the christian faith he believed,
Now exists in a madhouse, his days in wonder they start
"Oh Lord, why did you tear my child apart?"

AJ Buttle 2006