Outcasts

Outcasts Come; hear ye outcasts, Ye lost in the shuffle, You are chosen among those fighting, for rank in the scuffle. Your undying pursuit, though seemingly at a distance. The unrelenting passion, fueling without resistance. Come; hear ye rejected, Cut from the mold of a different kind, Says the Master of the banquet, “Gather them all, they shall be mine.” While never striving for position or the favored attention, The last shall be first at His Majesty’s convention. Escape to love, all ye dejected, love for you, meant everything, Greater than the scorn you bore, for mere acceptance and love, you would have given anything. Your precious pearls were trampled, under feet of the heart of swine, But says the Master of the table, compel them to come, now, they are mine. Come; ye outcasts, Ye forgotten children of the King You are the elect, faithful, and the chosen, He has heard your cries, your suffering. You are gathered from the low roads, the streets, prisons, and the bars, placed at the forefront of many battles, to win so many unseen wars. Your story, is chosen for His glory, His glory will never be amiss, Your gifts the unknown allegory For such a glorious time as this.