I see things.
I’ve seen children of means doing demeaning things.
And sons of poverty who spread their wings.
I’ve seen grown men beg for life,
And children throw it away to avoid a little strife.
I’ve seen grandiose homes with filth and grime,
And homeless camps that pristinely shine.
I have seen some men tell the truth.
I’ve seen more lie despite the proof.
I’ve seen sorrow and courage,
Calm and rage.
I’ve seen precious little contentment and plenty of resentment.
I’ve heard women scream as I stand at their door,
Because I’ve come to tell them they aren’t mothers anymore.
I’ve seen bad men get their due,
And self righteous ones who have no clue.
I’ve seen lots of things as a police man.
Some things others never can.
Now has come the time of day,
When the good little boys go out to play.
And by play I mean work and toil and strain,
To make a living and create gain.
With tired eyes he rises early,
To face the world so bleak and surly.
And goes out to face the day.
He hopes to improve the way,
His family lives.
And so he gives,
His sweat, blood and tears.
He faces many fears,
But never backs down to a single one.
Not till his day is done,
And he can finally return to the sweet embrace,
Of his loving wife and her tender grace.
It’s hard to win.
Each callus tells a story,
Of a battle fought without glory.
Scars, scratches and blisters,
These are like three sisters.
They are the proof of hands well used.
Made to work hard and often abused.
But embedded with the callus and scars of days gone by,
Is a pride that will never die.
Because honest labor is in high demand,
Tough skin is a badge of honor for a well worked hand.