David Moore Poet Rhyme

Alone, Beat Down, and Cursed

An unkept man lay down on the cold street.
He had no blanket and nothing to eat.
People passed by, but no attention shone.
Not one penny shared to help him along.

Alone, beatdown, a nobody, and cursed.
His existence is viewed as less than dust.
Gets little from the bureaucratic maze.
Nothing but a bush to shelter his head.

Jesus had no home for rest.
But some offered Him their best.
Some held Him with contempt.
Yet to the cross for the world he went.

The homeless are some folk’s vile bitterweed.
They shout out, “Cut them down and burn their seed.”
Have they not heard the words of Christ Jesus?
“I was a stranger, and you took me in”.

No easy cures for this weight on our land.
Most agree it has gotten out of hand.
But stalwart and gallant souls must come forth.
And show that all of creation has worth.

When the world turns a blind eye
Others must say, “Here am I”.
And just who that may be?
It’s His church, called the ecclesia.


{Note: “ecclesia” in Greek: the “called-out (ones)”, i.e., the church.}

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