Cry Out

 To every man and woman, child and teen,

Family and friends, meek or obscene,

To every failure and every success,

The shy and the bold, for more or for less,

To the ones that loath and the ones that envy,

The deep and the shallow, the full and the empty,

To the ones with heart and strong ambition,

The ones who are privileged to still need permission,

 To the weak and the strong, for better, for worse,

The liars, the cheaters, the dead, and the cursed,

To the scholars of wisdom, to the blind and the dumb,

The excited and fearless, the addicts and drunks,

To those of the arts, who sing, paint, and dance,

The ones who are still seeking their second chance,

To those who take pleasure in winning the gold,

The ones who find love in the gray and the old,

To all who have feared future, present, and past,

The ones in the middle, the firsts and the lasts,

To all who who are searching, to all who have found,

The ones who are free and the ones who are bound,

To all of those souls who pray to their God,

The ones who see all religion as flawed,

To those who are perfectly content with their lives,

The ones who are broken and get by to survive,

To those who give color to the way they live,

The ones black and white, who have nothing to give,

To those who hold grudges and hate in their hearts,

The ones who forgive and forget and restart,

To all of the victims and all who've been wronged,

The accomplice and criminals, to whom they belong,

To the judges and juries, crooked and true,

The corrupt and greedy, and the righteous few,

To the ones who obey to the ones who rebel,

The angels in heaven and the demons in hell,

To all that have ears and all that have eyes,

The ones who aren't privileged to yet realize,

To all who can sense and all who can touch,

The ones who have none, the ones who have much,

To those all determined to stick to the plan,

The ones who accept that they don't understand,

To all that has breath and to all that has life,

Who taketh away and who die by the knife,

To those who are weary and traveled so long,

The ghosts though imprisoned, they still live among,

I ask you this question, I sing you this song,

I desire you, please, please...

Prove Me Wrong

© Nick Kline, 2010