lobsterchick's Diaryland Diary

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Untitled Poem #2

There must be a million angels in America tonight,
And a revolution outside each door,
But the children starve and wait for a sign,
But the children will always want more.

She walks along a busy street,
Holding her heart in her hands.
A stranger knocks it to the ground,
But only a stranger understands.

He waited for her, dammit,
he waited for her to come home.
He counted the hours by the microwave clock
But, of course, how could he have known?

A stranger doesn't care if the angels all die,
Though he tsks at the evening news.
Strangers are crawling the streets tonight,
But she has the parking lot blues.

Note: I realize that I plagiarized almost this entire thing from the song "Magdalen Lane." So don't write me. I was young and impressionable.

11:39 AM - 04 July 2003

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