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Street of Secrets
By Renae Heustess
We see children playing every day
Running and romping, each in his own special way.
Laughter can be heard from a quiet neighborhood street.
Children moving about on happy little feet.
Yes, children are playing on secret street
But wait, you see a child sitting alone on his front steps
His head is down, his heart is broken, his secrets kept.
Why does he sit alone and full of sadness?
Why does he seem like an adult, only less?
The cherub face looks barren and cold.
He's only a child - but he seems so old.
What could this child have seen that changed his life?
What could have happened to make him show such strife?
Yes, there is sadness on secret street
The neighbors all seem completely unaware
Of a child next door with only a mother who cares.
Those living close by - go about their busy lives
And never, never hearing his cries.
They live on a street of secrets unknown
Much, of which, they would not condone.
Yes, it's quiet on secret street
As the laughter of neighborhood children subsides.
You begin to hear unspeakable cries.
From within this sad child's house it begins,
It's not the first time and it seem to never end.
The child covers his ears, put his head in his lap.
Then you hear the screams and repeated slaps.
Could this be possible - in our safe neighborhood?
Or, is this really a street of secrets where all is overlooked?
What kind of person stands by and watches such horror?
It's those of us who will "check in to it" - tomorrow.
You're going to the store or the cleaners or the bank.
You really don't have time to get involved - to be frank.
Then you say "I'll make a few calls before the week is out."
And before you know it, you've forgotten all about.
Yes, everyone's busy on secret street
Then one day while driving down that same, secret street
The laughter is not heard and there's no happy feet.
You look and you see our sad child again
Still alone, and still with no friends.
Only this time our sad child's on the porch beneath -
A tall and white and lonely wreath.
This time he sits and cries for the loss of someone dear,
His mother - his life - the only one near.
Yes, there is death on secret street
What will happen to him - what will his life be like?
Will he be like other children playing and riding their bikes?
No, he will watch from a distance on secret street.
Never trusting, always wondering, what demise he will meet.
Will he be like his father, using the power from his hands?
Or will he be like his mother, not standing a chance?
What decides the fate of this poor child on secret street?
Who will lend a guiding hand - help him back on his feet?
It's you and I - the ones driving by - each and every day.
It's YOU and I - the ones who care - who will show him the way.
Yes, there is HOPE on secret street
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