A Gentle Breeze

In the distance blows a gentle breeze,
Making its way through the crowd with ease,
Flowing through their hair, it is still so warm.
It travels through the bright sun’s glare,
Though its touch no one seems to be aware,
As its presence disappears to another form.

Lost among the laughter and the chatter,
Leaving the crowd to things that really matter,
Like the things that they are sure they want to feel
On this perfect day, no one would want to rearrange,
Because who would find, yet question something strange
In this world that’s so surprisingly surreal.

But beyond them is a vast playing field
Where many trample, yet far fewer yield
To see currents in the grass that flows,
Leading to where a silent stranger waits
Behind one of his dark, invisible gates
Where a single, lonely wildflower grows.

The stranger stares with vacant eyes
As only he can hear the inner cries.
But the rest have come to hear the band.
And they gather around the open stage
So they can enjoy what is the latest rage,
And sigh as the players take their stand.

Drawing nearer, the stranger sees a young boy
He was young once, but there was no joy.
He wants to cry out for the boy to run,
He wants to cry out as he reaches for his gun.

And like a broken spine, a branch begins to snap
As the people wait for their show within their trap.
And they lay down their chairs, blankets, and towels
As the summer wind picks up in sudden howls.

They did not hear the first gunshot blast,
Nor do they recall the number of the very last,
But they remember how the stranger did not weep
For those who on that day entered their eternal sleep.

And they did not cry for him as he was taken away,
So that others can enjoy another splendid day,
Where the rivers thaw out from a chilling freeze,
And where wildflowers are free to grow like weeds,
And in the fields the children can come out to play,
And in the distance blows a gentle breeze.