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Category: Sub Category: Poetry |
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There was a knock on our door yesterday and a middle aged woman
stood there crying. She was a lady that I had talked to on the bus and
offered help to several months ago. She and her husband are on the
methadone program and was asking for help, which she got. She also
got hugs and kind words to help her on her way. Some people say
but she only wants the money for drugs. Judging is not my job,
it belongs to God.
They come with grief and hungry words
A case to argue for some aid
By chance some food or money gain
A story bold with practice made.
No love, no hope a world gone mad
With heavy hearts they find their way
No time to stop and mind their path
They seek to last another day.
What hope their children making good
No time to plan a future bright
Their souls are given out to hell
They sleep by day and cry by night.
Where are the knights in shining armour
Where is this God that cares and loves
Where are the heroes in the stories
Where are the peaceful, cooing doves.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
The least of His are sent to test us
Do we judge or turn our heads
They are touchstones sent to try us
They will help to make our beds.
Malcolm Brown
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