Living A Quiet Apology
by Michael Doyle

Working a little love for opportunity,
In the neighborhood, it's new for me
To try to get a little something
That might free me up to sing. 

Climbing in through the window,
Hoping to hide in the shadows.
We tussle, then walk through the door.
It's what it is to be living poor.

Living quietly in the apology.
It's what passes as life for you and me.
There is no color for poverty.
There is only you and what passes for me.

So little love is handed out.
That which is, is given in doubt.
But that which is given ready-made,
If you can move past being afraid.

Mom and Dad constructs are figments.
The darkness shown hides the pigments.
No one can explain the mystery.
Between tears, they blame it on history.

Living quietly in the apology.
It's what passes as life for you and me.
There is no color for poverty.
There is only you and what passes for me.

One fist at a time, it comes down to blood
As the children wrestle around in the mud.
Standing up is the best that you can do.
At least it feels so in the ghetto's view.

In the street's fallen sight,
A boy needs to prove himself in fight.
It's how you get respect and a name.
Nobody talks about this losing game.

Living quietly in the apology.
It's what passes as life for you and me.
There is no color for poverty.
There is only you and what passes for me.

Floating back in life's fatal swim,
The chances flow out a little dim.
Still, you give it your best try
As your brothers cry, "do it or die!"

We are only staying in this game
To pretend that none of us is to blame.
The struggle given is not to play.
We live as we live until our judgment day.

Living quietly in the apology.
It's what passes as life for you and me.
There is no color for poverty.
There is only you and what passes for me.

(c) January 24, 2026   Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved