11.14.11.mc

.whats in this obligation,

only i receive,

that everyone is enjoying time,

except me.

watching all these people,

growing in reverse,

standing in slow motion,

watching it from earth.

i report that these,

workers really do seem

rather,

content and happy.

but more and more i see

children running to the streets,

yelling to their elders,

dont you see me?

im not that grown up yet,

for you to leave me on my own!

do you hear what im saying?

im not that grown!

and as i watch these smaller people,

cry out to the skies,

the pain welds up inside me,

and i begin to cry.

a storm forms on the coast,

slowly starting to get worse.

parents look up to the sky,

and see their children faces

reflected in the skies.

the storm is made,

from the rage

in their souls.

i report what happens,

to the parents on the shores.

and thus it takes a storm,

and something much more.

children see through the masks

their parents often front.

forgetting little faces,

and placed them in the mud.

reporting now is over,

and though i often see,

little smiles on the shores,

smiling up at me.

01.14.11.mc