Why should I tell a story and make up a lie?

When all these things happen before our eyes.

Alone and lonely the midnight eerie calls.

It does not matter that it is spring or fall.

They wander the streets searching for their lost youth,

Yet they are faced with the reality of truth.

Wrinkled faces, arthritic fingers, a mind long gone,

On a sidewalk, they lay no place to call home.

A cardboard box serves as a bed,

Anything they can find will be a pillow for their head.

The rains come. Their beds crumble and break apart,

A trail of tears as the pain rips their heart.

But they linger. They hope for a brighter tomorrow,

Yet it is another day that only brings sorrow.

Sometimes their feet are bare, and frozen are their toes,

Chapped red cheeks, so cold, and runny their nose.

Yet people walk by their faces turned away,

Not thinking that they might be there someday.

Oh, for just one decent meal to ease their hunger,

Just to hold off starvation just a little longer.

But no one cares. Oh, they talk a good game,

And make sure everyone knows their name.

But talk does no good without an action complete,

If only they had help getting back on their feet.

Rise, people. Rise above the selfish in me,

Rise for the homeless a meal to eat.

Blankets, and coats, a smile, and a prayer,

Show them they are not nobodies. Show them you care.

Gather Father’s children, lend them your hope,

Show them mercy help them to cope.

He watches us. Tears He must cry,

For we leave them to the elements letting them die.

Have you ever wondered how it would be,

If you ever held prayer with a junkie?

An alcoholic that has fallen as far as he could,

Have you prayed with them? Well, we should.

There is always a lost sheep that needs to be found,

Be the shepherd that lifts them off the ground.

Father’s words always come to mind,

Love one another. Always be kind.

© Cynthia Clark