The Village is silent
It used to speak boldly
Now, it nurses the wounds
Inflicted by some of its children
It NEVER used to be abused before
It was revered; adhered to
Now, it's told to mind it's "damned business"
It is, nonetheless, concerned
It stopped watching, because it's too sad to see
It knows how things could be
The direction could have been changed long ago
The action stopped
It used to be what the village was good at
Now, it's so eerily obvious
It used to speak boldly
Now, it nurses the wounds
Inflicted by some of its children
It NEVER used to be abused before
It was revered; adhered to
Now, it's told to mind it's "damned business"
It is, nonetheless, concerned
It stopped watching, because it's too sad to see
It knows how things could be
The direction could have been changed long ago
The action stopped
It used to be what the village was good at
Now, it's so eerily obvious
She's out there;
He's out there
She's having fun;
She's having fun;
He's taking chances
She's really in danger;
She's really in danger;
He's really in danger
And no one in the village is saying a word
What would help?
A mother's love?
A father's presence?
An aunt's advice?
An uncle's old stories?
A grandmother's wisdom?
A grandfather's plain talk?
A teacher's caring?
A mentor's objectivity?
A good talking-to?
A swift kick in the too-tight pants?
A belt for the pants that are deliberately falling?
A rude awakening in a hospital?
Another,
And no one in the village is saying a word
What would help?
A mother's love?
A father's presence?
An aunt's advice?
An uncle's old stories?
A grandmother's wisdom?
A grandfather's plain talk?
A teacher's caring?
A mentor's objectivity?
A good talking-to?
A swift kick in the too-tight pants?
A belt for the pants that are deliberately falling?
A rude awakening in a hospital?
Another,
another,
another funeral?
She speaks, and her words are mumbled; slurred
His language of choice is abbreviated and profane
Her laughter only surfaces to ridicule and mock
It is grating and loud
He is neither articulate, nor polite
Just defensive and combative
Her once bright eyes are dead, behind expensive frames
The value of their attire helps neither of them
She appears much older than her years
He is still wet behind the ears
They are manipulative, yet obvious
She has confused sexy with nasty
Feminine with whorish
Hip with ignorant
He has confused his genitalia with a weapon
His seed as confetti
His brilliant mind, as a liability
Her peers are takers and hangers-on
His peers have sold their souls
Their peers have ascended to a higher level of pathetic
While she's throwing up her hands in places she's too young to enter
While he's forcing others to throw up their hands or die
The hands of those who could have helped are down
Joined in performative prayer, or nervously wringing
She speaks, and her words are mumbled; slurred
His language of choice is abbreviated and profane
Her laughter only surfaces to ridicule and mock
It is grating and loud
He is neither articulate, nor polite
Just defensive and combative
Her once bright eyes are dead, behind expensive frames
The value of their attire helps neither of them
She appears much older than her years
He is still wet behind the ears
They are manipulative, yet obvious
She has confused sexy with nasty
Feminine with whorish
Hip with ignorant
He has confused his genitalia with a weapon
His seed as confetti
His brilliant mind, as a liability
Her peers are takers and hangers-on
His peers have sold their souls
Their peers have ascended to a higher level of pathetic
While she's throwing up her hands in places she's too young to enter
While he's forcing others to throw up their hands or die
The hands of those who could have helped are down
Joined in performative prayer, or nervously wringing
Those who surround her, indulge her
Those who surround him, call him a man
"Man of the house" actually, is he
Until he encounters real men, who neither value, nor love him
She is the butt of jokes
The subject of gossip
The poster child for what not to aspire to be
He is never expected to come home
And rarely sees anyone like himself when he does
There is no love
He is never expected to come home
And rarely sees anyone like himself when he does
There is no love
She is out of control
He is out of control
They are now "other people's children"
They used to be ALL of ours
The Village shakes its collective head
It looks the other way
No one is bold enough to say
"Little girl, little boy, WHERE are you going dressed like THAT?"
"Little girl, little boy, WHERE are your manners?"
"Little girl, little boy, WHO do you think you're talking to?"
"Little girl, little boy, go sit down somewhere!"
"Little girl, little boy, do your your homework!"
"Little girl, little boy, go to class!"
"Little girl, even chickens have breasts and thighs."
"Little boy, even dogs procreate".
"Little girl, little boy, THIS doesn't concern YOU".
"Little girl, little boy, LISTEN!"
At first glance, their images translate:
No one is bold enough to say
"Little girl, little boy, WHERE are you going dressed like THAT?"
"Little girl, little boy, WHERE are your manners?"
"Little girl, little boy, WHO do you think you're talking to?"
"Little girl, little boy, go sit down somewhere!"
"Little girl, little boy, do your your homework!"
"Little girl, little boy, go to class!"
"Little girl, even chickens have breasts and thighs."
"Little boy, even dogs procreate".
"Little girl, little boy, THIS doesn't concern YOU".
"Little girl, little boy, LISTEN!"
At first glance, their images translate:
"Carefree and fun"
"Youth and silliness"
"Youth and silliness"
Look again, and they scream:
"Sadness and despair"
"Hardness and indifference"
"Loss of innocence"
Pleas for help, that they don't even know they're making
They don't know how far they have fallen
They brag that they have no guidance
They DID, early on, but no more
Maybe it's the reason for the silent screams for help
In the form of a daily, global sideshow
Designed to declare their right to privacy and independence
But only revealing how little they really know
They don't know that NOTHING is private anymore.
The Village knows that, one day,
Their acting out will come back to terrorize them in the form of:
A rejection letter
A public scandal
A missed, coveted opportunity
OR a little girl, or little boy who looks just like them
How far it will go, is uncertain
Each new image and message proves
They are really "out there" now
The village USED to see it, advise, and correct
Today, no one is caring, or watching
It's harmless fun
It's a phase
No one is teaching, or guiding
Not even in their own homes
The Village seems to be indifferent
Only reminiscing now of its glorious past
Of rescuing little girls and little boys from themselves
But it still has hope for them
Maybe, one day, they will grow up- INSIDE
Maybe, one day, they will see themselves
And realize that there's nothing attractive
About the way they carry themselves
Dress themselves
Pose themselves
Or present themselves in word and deed
The Village knows it's not too late
Is there no one left to respect in the circles of some of our children?
Is there no one to emulate?
Is there no one qualified to offer anything except contempt?
Maybe the little girls and little boys are not the ones
The Village needs to address
It's true
She IS only a child
He DOESN'T know any better
They are not the MIRRORS
They are the shameful REFLECTIONS
They are the manifestations of what they live.
They have absorbed it well
They have proven that they CAN learn.
The Village now directs its inquiry squarely where it belongs
Not at the school
Not at seat of government
"Loss of innocence"
Pleas for help, that they don't even know they're making
They don't know how far they have fallen
They brag that they have no guidance
They DID, early on, but no more
Maybe it's the reason for the silent screams for help
In the form of a daily, global sideshow
Designed to declare their right to privacy and independence
But only revealing how little they really know
They don't know that NOTHING is private anymore.
The Village knows that, one day,
Their acting out will come back to terrorize them in the form of:
A rejection letter
A public scandal
A missed, coveted opportunity
OR a little girl, or little boy who looks just like them
How far it will go, is uncertain
Each new image and message proves
They are really "out there" now
The village USED to see it, advise, and correct
Today, no one is caring, or watching
It's harmless fun
It's a phase
No one is teaching, or guiding
Not even in their own homes
The Village seems to be indifferent
Only reminiscing now of its glorious past
Of rescuing little girls and little boys from themselves
But it still has hope for them
Maybe, one day, they will grow up- INSIDE
Maybe, one day, they will see themselves
And realize that there's nothing attractive
About the way they carry themselves
Dress themselves
Pose themselves
Or present themselves in word and deed
The Village knows it's not too late
Is there no one left to respect in the circles of some of our children?
Is there no one to emulate?
Is there no one qualified to offer anything except contempt?
Maybe the little girls and little boys are not the ones
The Village needs to address
It's true
She IS only a child
He DOESN'T know any better
They are not the MIRRORS
They are the shameful REFLECTIONS
They are the manifestations of what they live.
They have absorbed it well
They have proven that they CAN learn.
The Village now directs its inquiry squarely where it belongs
Not at the school
Not at seat of government
Not at the police
Not at the church
But at the HOME
Now, the Village speaks:
"How does one watch one's own go to hell
While directing others to varying degrees of heaven?
What is one doing that one doesn't even see?
How does one not ask for help?
When was wrongdoing EVER rewarded and defended?
How busy can one be, that one's own child slowly descends
Into an abyss of utter foolishness
And one does not, WILL not
Or simply feels powerless to pull them out?
Is it because one was left to wallow oneself?
Did one hit rock bottom once, too?
Did one once curse The Village, too?
Is one counting on God to provide a repeat performance of Amazing Grace?
Is one now praying an old prayer that one formerly mocked?
Is one so self-absorbed with one's own pursuits?
Or does one simply not care?
Why should The Village shed a tear?
Why should The Village lie awake at night?
Dear Villager, why do you care?
Since you do, say something anyway.
SAY something.
Keep saying something!
Better for someone to be angry with you today
Than be the subject of the silently read obituary
At The Village church, tomorrow
Not at the church
But at the HOME
Now, the Village speaks:
"How does one watch one's own go to hell
While directing others to varying degrees of heaven?
What is one doing that one doesn't even see?
How does one not ask for help?
When was wrongdoing EVER rewarded and defended?
How busy can one be, that one's own child slowly descends
Into an abyss of utter foolishness
And one does not, WILL not
Or simply feels powerless to pull them out?
Is it because one was left to wallow oneself?
Did one hit rock bottom once, too?
Did one once curse The Village, too?
Is one counting on God to provide a repeat performance of Amazing Grace?
Is one now praying an old prayer that one formerly mocked?
Is one so self-absorbed with one's own pursuits?
Or does one simply not care?
Why should The Village shed a tear?
Why should The Village lie awake at night?
Dear Villager, why do you care?
Since you do, say something anyway.
SAY something.
Keep saying something!
Better for someone to be angry with you today
Than be the subject of the silently read obituary
At The Village church, tomorrow
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