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...in Mean Streets

Gray sidewalk into a back alley Off some low, dead-end sign Walks a man, past a shadow of himself Who is he? Is he a brother? He is the least of these, the teacher said. He is friend to the cold and dark places… Do you know him? Listen to the stories… Over bridges, under streetlights; against the bitter wind These are the places they live… where we call ourselves “them” Listen to the stories… Where highways turn to gravel And lanes into sewers Forgotten, under glass, turned away By those who would not share It’s you, it’s me…we are they who sit alone in the cold Sleeping in the park, While a moment wanders by Listen to the stories… They are the beloved, orphans of us all, adopted by God They sing of wounded silence, longing just to know…

Copyright © | Year Posted 2007




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Date: 10/2/2017 1:06:00 AM
A brilliant post - why no comments when it is something others veer from in such a poetic way - I wish more people would open their eyes the way you have - Indiana x x x
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