Soft Curses of Angels - Volume 3 - Vaudevillian

In America

 Walking down an empty street,

in unpolished combat boot,

keys jangle at his side,

unlikely guise in which to meet,

the children who've taken root,

his smiles full of paternal pride.

Hair sways in the waking breath,

cars flash past on asphalt,

he comes to a house of his kind,

his key opens to see Sister Beth,

sent him away as timing was at fault,

without word he left that house behind.

Screams invite him to an ally right,

finds a women prostrate bleeding,

he rushes down to her side,

teary eyed he whispers last rite,

her life's light slowly receding,

with people walking by she silently died.

Arrested face held down in the dirt,

bloodstained he takes the blame,

no name but guilty is what they find,

lain in a scruffy prison shirt,

soon to return from where he came,

eyes closed to see in this land of the blind.