Hand takes hand, by the pier,

time’s Gulls

kiss longing, young eyes

in whom love, unassuming,

Falls.

 

Yet thrash far, not from there,

Boats shipping, in peril dare

To brave Lakes, verily Great,

And Seas, calming, all too late

when maidens’ tears drown, 

so wet in hate,

of the ill, sunken news, 

of their new

husbands’ 

fate.

 

These are the ordinary people,

For whose souls, ascend sacred steeples

Whose tender, worn faces

tie civilization’s shoelaces.

 

Sullen, no more stays

when the sight of laughs, dancing, adore

these faces, sweet and playing,

of childrens’ Lives, under Parents’ lore:

What stories carve creases

On flesh, sacrificed, and more,

Since anxious hearts, aging,

so worry

for provisions 

to store.

 

See, what it could mean

for life to banish the obscene,

when simple, these hearts clean,

greet times elderly, and serene.

 

For these are the ordinary people,

With hearts pierced in silent needles

Stories humble, with causes tragic,

As growing pains struggle, for daily magic

 

Not all things prove, what vain men seek,

Nor must they conclude, in opulence, chic.

Ordinary things, are trains passing by:

Dark, woody, sweet hills, where teenage deeds, with wings fly!

 

These mischief kings, in country tongues

Abide in those tracks, with sunset runs

Who end their days, near the town’s deep pond,

and watch youth pass,

Until old, reminiscing

fond.

 

These are the jewels, of ordinary people!

Adore, one should, a life unburdened

by silly abstraction, and much uncertain,

In neon towers, and blood-red curtains

 

Plastic they are, who scoff from afar,

Who know not music, with an honest bar,

Whose status may shine, to claim subpar

is everything sweet, that does evil harm!

 

Little, such see, what error becomes

Of men in short plea, as the ego runs

when countless delusions, not undone

makes faces to shrivel, with songs

Unsung.

 

Some, there are, who use 

extraordinary talent, to make

Ordinary people

less 

than 

ordinary:

 

One sees it in television flashes,

And fake eyelashes,

Where Hollywood crashes

into minds of masses!

 

Art abounds with potential unfound,

as talent, exceptional, degrades the sound

of hearts made high, for souls to ground, 

but produce for hits, and hell’s tall hounds.

 

Despair, though I not, for ordinary people,

if souls entertain, what miracles within

may anytime bloom, and eschew their sin,

to manage their best, for Love, and for Kin!

 

For this, have all seen, in heroism clear

When torsos, firm, held victims in fear!

Such brazen men, whose lives, not mere,

Sing of man, at his best, with courage severe!

 

And again, shall I sing, of virtue declared,

when ordinary eyes can conquer the glare

of a Sun so darkened, by apathy’s stare;

they quickly abscond, of devils’ snare!

 

This is the song of Ordinary People!

Close, these lines, in positions fetal,

And never forget, what mystery meets all

extraordinary glee, 

in these judgments

genial.

_________________

 

R.V. Smith: “Ordinary People”, 05-14-25

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© 2025 by Ryan Vincent Smith