Friday's Whims of the Time Traveler 77.0: September 1st, 2007

The Silent Mob
by Belinda Roddie

Handprints on the city walls, melded into metal wrought with
Mortals’ touch upon this sacred ground so dear
To the idle individual who makes his living in this fear
This is the work of the silent mob

No one in particular leads, while many are not ashamed
To follow, for in following we allow ourselves to be taught
About the concepts that are worthy to be thought
This is the work of ones cloaked in ideals, like many colored robes
The work of the silent mob

If every man and woman would turn their head to look
They would see children with morning dew upon their faces
For only would it melt away if by hand or book
The innocence of our youth would be taken away
Why do so when they are the only ones with beautiful things to say?
Such is the work of the silent mob

As one man spoke, soul broken as he lay in the gutter of an
American street, the roars of lions settled without prey
For he himself said such crowds, without voice, sway
A reed upon the Eastern shorelines of a dream
So is the silent mob not in fury, but in creed
And their handprints fade, and they are free

The work you see here has not been edited nor altered since September 1st, 2007.