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Sleeping Under Speeches

Updated on November 3, 2016

Why are we digging up graves
And picking their forgotten pockets?
We want to bring them up
And wear a dead man’s locket

A doomed ship brings comfort
At least they died in history
To a man who has nothing
It’s better than anonymity

How you gonna’ die
When you don’t know how to live?
What’s the point of fighting
When we all forget to give?

A man only see his color
And still he points a finger
A woman sees her breasts
And still wants a man’s power

They only want what you got
Or they want to see you fail
Either way that’s how it is
Just don’t ask them for bail

Who wants to kill a man
For the sins of their father?
Who wants to silence your mind
Because freedom can’t be bothered?

Forty years ago they sang of Green Berets
And being on the Eve of Destruction
Now it's the same thing and nothings changed
Why do we suffer and just pass it on?

I never met a man who talked so freely
Like a man who can’t be found
We hear the voices from the wilderness
Tearing the fabric of which we were bound

I know people who hate me
Because I won’t hate the one’s they do
They say I’m the problem
The world will be better when I die too

Where I can live without all the noise
Maybe one room is all I need
Some candles and a book from long ago
Then I can relax instead of bleed

I’m ready to lose all my money
I’ve already picked out my street corner
It’s just a matter of time before you see me
When you drive-by maybe I'll get a quarter

I wonder if I could really do it
Live in the rain and cold outside of churches
Would the President tell me how to live
Or to sleep under newspapers printed with speeches?

It seems all that matters happened long ago
I still cry when I hear songs of my childhood
I can't find a new memory to take their place
When I die I'll see them as they light the wood

Wake me when my dreams have come true
But not until yours have had their chance
I’ve learned to live while I sleep alone
You can have tomorrow’s cheap romance


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    • The Suburban Poet profile image

      The Suburban Poet 5 years ago from Austin, Texas

      Ken you make a man feel good my friend. Thank you. It's a very confusing time in life but I wonder if I'm only feeling what every generation has felt. I read that piece of yours and like all of them it was real. Thank you for sharing this... I wrote it up tonight just thinking about stuff.....

    • profile image

      Vincent Moore 5 years ago

      Wow, stunning, fantastic, one of your best no doubt. Your imagery was stark, I saw the plight of the lost, the homeless. Homeless men and woman will waste away in the streets while the rich line their pockets and send their children off to private schools and steak dinners.

      Rippled faces was a poem I wrote in disgust of all the lying, cheating faces that walk amongst us. I pray that work and homes will be found for the many who are on their last pay check and closer to living in the streets. Bravo, bravo, VOTED ALL THE WAY UP AND SHARED.