Out in the open, he receives not mercy from the great mother
A cardboard sign, ten quarters, and a sharpie to go with his worn out house shoes
The cards dealt to him no man wants, everyone fears, and all avoid
As if somehow they'll catch it, via some unseen evil gust of wind:
"We fear what we do not understand" --
All the while he re-counted his quarters and inquired of his soul:
Asked too much of myself,
left kneeling with empty pockets,
open eyes, and a shattered heart on the bookshelf.
It's not enough to be forgiven--
It's easy to be sorry for things I didn't do,
yet it's completeness that I crave: re-fill my pen!
I don't ask for a new book
A new beginning, I fear, is too late
but new ink a new story will tell.
In the street, the church bell tolls
One hundred pious actors bearing their sins as obvious as their mask
Turn the other way, protecting their child--or so they say,
of the threatening monster begging for compassion, a love he has never known:
a begging we dare not understand
****
Just what entered my mind when I left the Lied Center after watching Screwtape Letters and seeing a homeless man standing outside the door. No one, as far as I saw, gave him anything.
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