There's a lady down the street-
Sitting by a corner
Of the sidewalk.
Her face has been jagged deeply
By the snares of her own children.
Cuts dance on the open page of her back;
And everyone else
Has almost given up on her...
On her hands and on her feet
Are chains the size of two fists.
They keep her bound to the abyss of her own sorrow;
On her skin are inscriptions of
Wars that have been fought and lost,
Of her many children that were taken by those wars.
And of battles yet to be won...
How lucky she is, to feel pain-
To feel betrayed by the love for her children
To be able to watch her own heart break,
And pick up the pieces
With the edge of her teeth...
Will she ever laugh again at the
Tricks of the robbers by the streets?
Her face tells her story-
From climbing hills of slavery,
To claiming many mountains through bravery.
So maybe there's hope that she's soon free from those chains
Maybe her sons and daughters
Would trade their greed for her
happiness?
Maybe they'll turned around and help her up;
Dust her skirt and clean her cuts.
But that's only a leap of faith trying to cross out
Three steps of doubt...