We laugh… dismiss… spit in his face
The trash heap is where he gathers his dinner plate
The concrete ground is where he rests his head
Nobody listens… they condemn instead
Nobody listens… it’s as if he was dead
Nobody attends to the blood that is shed
Holding the remedy… we refuse to approach the manger
Our pride just never lets us feel for a stranger
So we pass him by… we’re too sane to converse
Not realizing we are the ones plagued by the curse
We pass him by… clutching our purse
Not grasping his magnitude… grasping his worth
One day he approached me… soliciting aid
I abruptly declined… as if I was afraid
I watched him ascend… recognizing it was He
I was left behind… the crazy one was me

-Jon Chambers

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