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A Calling
In the hidden, broken places therein reside
Those whom society has cast aside.
Overlooked, a festering wound forms gangrene.
Instead of healing the hurt,
We swath it in our own soiled rags
So that the ugliness remains unseen.
Money is not enough to pay the medical expense.
We need to desert our manicured lawns
For the sake of helping those who suffer
On the other side of the fence.
An ointment applied with most gentle of care
Not to prove anything for one's own advance.
Life cannot by luxury itself repair,
Only by a humble servant's burdened stance
And a healing balm infused with love we tend.
How can life let these beautiful souls
Tarnish from our refusal of a hand to extend?
