Good morning. How are you? I'm fine. Yeah, that's why I'm here.
by ric booth
We stroll this grave yard he and I
And mingle while I watch him die
He neither hears nor looks your way
I ask “good mourning?” ev’ryday
And he echos me with out you
Talking small that’s what we do.
His back reveals he could not care.
Programmed response, no hearts laid bare.
Now thinking back upon this man,
Did he just ask us how I am?
I am not “Fine!” That’s but a curse!
A wordless f-word for this verse!
The nice will use it to profane
The inner weeping of their pain.
So when he asks me, “How are you?”
Do I risk to say what is true?
He walks on by, seems not to hear.
Our empty words are masking fear.
He knows not who he does not know
So busy dying… watch me go.
Within my heart your tears will be
No wonder why you wept for me.