Cecelia Weir

(March 19,1955 / Fayette, Alabama)

The Real Side


A baby cries
As its mother weeps
No food or shelter
No secure place to sleep.
They feel no pain
It's too deep inside
They still hold their heads up
It doesn't shatter their pride.

As the mother's man
Say he will provide
This woman has hope
And she wipes her eyes.
While her man makes a living
Her heart mourns so deep
For she visions him dying
From his game in the street.

They report as a family
Yet these are words to get by
For a part in her lives
While the other part dies.
No place can they call home
It becomes an empty building
Leaving behind memories
Life becomes so unappealing.

They wait without wonder
No more tears to bear
But complacently do ponder
Is there no one to care?
Their lives are devastated
And filled with despair
This can't be living
There's no real life to share.

Who can stop this opaque dispensation
Who can rescue them from pain
Who can give them hope
As they live beyond their shame?
Held together by prayer
Although all hope is gone
They awaken the next day
And sing the same ole rugged song.

Who will reach out
Who will take their hand
Who will have God's mercy
Who can they lean on to stand?
Who will be their friend
No doubt their money is gone
Who will remember their good
They shouldn't be neglected or left alone.

What happens to the soul of man
Before the soul is gone
Why does life take away his spirit
And leave him as an empty drone.
Why can't we see the inside
And give him hope again
It's not the burden of his load that breaks him
It's when he doesn't find a friend.

Submitted: Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, August 21, 2013

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