Nor the color of your skin
Only the weariness of your bones
slumped under the thin blanket
I know not your home
Nor the words of your religion
You are tree broken by storm
lying unwanted as stone by bench
I know not your journey
But from your bleeding feet
do I glimpse the weight of your cross
Brother
I did not call you,
Please forgive me-
Homeless Jesus Sculpture, Toronto City
Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - We have a guest host who is prompting this afternoon at 3pm EST~ We are writing about brother/ brotherhood ~ Thanks for the visit ~
