Glass Houses

June 8th, 2009 | By

They say, “He who slings mud, loses ground”

Seldom is a source found that replenishes itself

That makes up what was lost

Without extra cost or an undesired result

The mudslinger knows this well

He sees the dirt on his hands and under his nails

Dirty hands for a dirty job

A dirty job filled with dirty deeds

The mudslinger sees no problem with these

Or this, Mentality

Ground maybe lost

Dirty hands maybe the cost

But who looks at dirty hands

When someone else has a dirty face

Dirty face wins the race

To ridicule and laughter

The mudslinger would have to move faster

Than the speed of light to look past

The mud he slung at someone’s elses’ path

And we laugh

Sitting in our Glass Houses

They say, “the grass the always greener, on the other side”

Here we go again believing their lies

With scratched up knees and scraped up thighs

Why is there a fence?

Where is the gate?

If every thing is so great, why make us wait?

Maybe our shade of Green is seen

As a source of comfort

For those on the other side

Who would willing open wide

Their gate to get a glimpse inside

Our glass house

While we’re banging to find a way out

They say, “It’s better to have loved and lost

Than to have never loved at all”

Should I slip and fall

Into looking for lessons learned

With no true concern

To the eyes focusing back at me

Through invisible walls

That cause pause for every passerby

That can spot a broken heart

And when I start to cry

They pick up rocks

Just as the mudslinger knows

The weight of his deeds

And like the green grass

Hide things only yet to be seen

The interesting thing

Glass houses are portable

While ground is being lost

So is the shelter

And while dreams are being spent

Going after what could be

We are exposed to letting everyone see

Our dirty hands and our dirty deeds

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