| |
EYES OF AMERICA
"America, America, God shed His grace on thee . . ."
but when I look into her eyes, this is what I see
the watery blue of an old woman's eyes
in their depths no hope lies
she sits in silence all alone
waiting for lunch in the nursing home
the liquid brown of a small child's
questioning eyes, scared and wild
his mother turns tricks to make ends meet
his father? Somewhere on the streets
the haunted gray of a young girl's
eyes hardened by a heartless world
that allowed her father the undue right
to sneak into her room night after night
the hollow eyes of a derelict bum
with wizened face and toothless gum
too numbed with wine and cold to feel
scavenging trash cans for a meal
the glazed eyes of a tiny babe
cold and stiff in an alley grave
behind the clinic; ripped from the womb
sent to heaven far too soon
black flashing eyes of an angry young man
taught by his gang to understand
hopes are for fools and dreams can be bought
in packets from the pusher down the block
the complacent eyes of the well bred
Gazing past the underfed
Pursuing a more important scheme
Called the great American dream
but the eyes of Heaven's Lamb
looking down from God's right hand
eyes of love that gaze upon
the babe, the bum, the old, the young
if we look into his eyes
maybe then we'll realize
a human soul's more precious than
the dreams and schemes of common man
"America, America God shed His grace on thee . . ."
but when I look into her eyes, His grace I do not see
© 2004 Rita L. Betti
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, except as may be expressly permitted by the 1976 Copyright Act or in writing from the author. Requests for permission should be addressed in writing to Rita L. Betti via the contact page.
|
|
