How many times must I be found?

A corpse, nameless, cast to the ground,

No recognition since I fell down,

Another derelict within the town.


John Doe, the label on the tag,

Tied to my toe in the county morgue.

There was no concern for who I was,

By the thousands who would ignore me and pass.


My name disappeared long ago,

The identity lost, by those who do not know,

Of my need, for a level of respect, my plight;

A soul for whom there is no right.


I've stood on sidewalks many times,

Outside theatres panhandling dimes.

The patrons; the posh, the rich, just brushed past,

Scurrying to get away from me fast.


I'm reminded of another story, another play,

Of another who was robbed and who lay,

Beside the roadside where he was seen,

Naked, beaten, a sight obscene.


Evaded by the principled and powerful who just passed by;

Who would not stop, to give a hand.

They shunned the unfortunate and closed their eye,

To the plight of another, for attention, unable to command.


Samaritans are few and far to be found;

For the hungry, the homeless, those down and out.

What travesty of event has set the bounds

Of ignorance that has cast them as layabout.


My name may be Mike, or Paul, or Don;

The person inside looked down upon;

"Am I Ignorance? Am I Want?"

Another "child" haggard, forlorn and gaunt.


Humanity has rejected the lowest to the highest.

No gift is given freely without exception;

The tithe has fallen away since inception,

Of Science's physical and non-spiritual bias.


Remember when you next pass by,

Compassion is more than one sigh.

Being human entails a risk,

Speak out, seek action, do not be dismissed.


My need is no greater than yours:

Food, clothing, shelter, the basics of life;

The opportunity to be more than strife,

To contribute and to experience that which endures!


There is a challenge; there is a task;

To be above human to those who cannot ask.

Do not let that day come,

Where you pass by, leaving me alone!


Feb. 3rd. 1996 © Will George.

Will George Poet