"A Son of Suburbia"

"I am a son of Suburbia"
A dreamer of dreams that are interrupted at the wrong moment.
A lover of lands that have been lost to a sea of blank faces.
Houses one by one that sit the same.
Back yard barbecues , flag football, and summer games.
Street lamps that blot out the stars.
This land is torn up , ruined and dying
...I still see the scars .
Man made game trails that all can follow.
Where are the times of the sycamore tree, whipper will call , and old barn swallow?
I sit and stare at the view in my head. Of the land , the trees , and of the old barn dirt in its can by my bed.
A son of Suburbia , I throw down these ties that bind
Over the city of walls, over these streets to the mountains I climb.
To a place I once knew. To a time I once loved.
Early morning walks through the pastures, I can almost hear the call of the mourning dove.
I open my eyes and see that all is the same.
A son of Suburbia's life is black , grey , and mundane.