Hindsight

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Pope Eyes

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Stuck like street lamps
Standing in the rain
The city noises
Drown out the pain
Fixtures, flesh and fiction
Filling the landscape
The fiction that we live
Is our only escape
In hindsight
What if this was your life
Could you forgo your lion's pride
On sidewalks
Lay our thoughts
And prayers that couldn't pay off
Abject on change
Goodwill in absentia
Object to the estranged
Philanthropist's dementia
Clutching pearls
Clenching fists
No verses
No R.I.P.'s
What we don't know
We can't omit
And what we know
We couldn't give a shit
In hindsight
When the ink's all but dried
Will the masses read of truth or lies
What we don't read in the obit
Must have been an omit
In my eyes
On my hands and my knees
Admitting my own self-defeat
On sidewalks
Lay our thoughts
And prayers that couldn't pay off
The war overseas
Outweighs the one at home
The city streets
Have fully overgrown
"But we're all doing our best"
That's what the obit read
When you're dead and gone
No time left to make amends

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