i hear america, it's screaming

i hear the world screaming, the sickening wails i hear; those of the hopeless—each of them a separate and eerie tune the homeless shouting his, humble and strong as he walks through cold and empty streets the business man screaming his, as he sits at his desk; the same monotonous, daily life the lawyer screaming in his head, lying through his teeth—shouting the untruths that aren’t lies; the single parents’ lament— the immigrant, on his way to work in the morning, or at his non-existent lunch break, or at sundown when he looks at the picture of the family he’s left behind the surreptitious sighing of the mother—or of the old widow at work—or of the girl waiting and watching for a chance to escape—each enduring what belongs to her and no one else; the day what belongs to the day—at night, the ghastly laments of the lives they cannot escape, even in sleep. screaming with open wounds, their tragic, dying screams