by Jason A.
Faceless perceptions, spoken in whispers
From darkened alleys
Afraid that our ideals will make a difference,
That it will upset some law of nature.
So we hide them in old books and locked drawers;
Putting on the face of everyone else when we
Walk out into the streets and laugh and sing
To their songs,
Pretending to share their ideals and dreams
As if they were our own.
Then out of the crowd, some mad man
Jumps up, screaming our thoughts
But he is thrown down, knocked down
And dragged away to be converted,
and we look at one another laughing
and say “We can’t have those kinds of
people running around, now can we?”
faceless perceptions spoken in whispers
from darkened alleys,
afraid that our ideals will make a difference,
that it will upset some law of nature.
Copyright © 2003 by Jason A.