They gathered in small groups, some were solitaire and alone.
I sensed a faux euphoria; A sense of companionship built once on the silence of laughter now gone.
A girl sat in a booth; she scanned her phone; she starred at the wooden ceiling and thought of home.
She gazed at the empty street, clearly a heart broken like unto the shattered shells upon the beach.
Two tables down stood a young girl with a thousand smiles on her face.
She carried a child about eight months along, yet and though she smiled, she too was alone.
What sadness is it that calls upon the masses who gather like lost children?
They smile with empty eyes, they laugh with haunted dreams.
They sleep as the day begins searching empty hearts and tattered seams.
I hear their cry in my soul, I know of their deliverance, but all they see is the darkness of death and to where they shall go.
So pray tell what is it that I should impart by word or deed to the lonely masses in need.
What of the girl with the broken heart?
What of the girl with the thousand smiles on her face?
How, oh how can I impute the wondrous love of His grace?
I don’t know, as I leave my tip and go, yet I still inside cry and still ask the reason why?
J. Allen Wilson © 4/22/2011