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have a heart for the prophet

the poor beggar who lives with us

he claims to hear

and speak for God

the creator

or the universe

but he is employed by man

the poor are easily discerned

but only with much difficulty

even though they stagger

stumbling, falling in the streets

we trip over them

not seeing them lying there

unable to look them in the eye


we all gaze in the mirror

without really looking to see

lest we see what we’re looking at

and the truth strikes a mortal blow

the stomach speaks louder than the mouth

though it has no voice, it shouts

… indeed, it roars


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