The Homeless Poem by Kirk Thomas

With destitution and solitude
Lost souls seeming
To wander aimlessly
Hunger the largest thing
On their conscience
Condemned souls searching
For God knows what
Collecting trinkets
And poor man's treasures
Speaking gibberish as if
It were the chosen language
Yet herein we can find grace
Though you may look twice
Maybe thrice
But grace is evident
To the one who looks
Through the eyes of God
We can not and should not
Judge another by their action
Nor by their appearance
For grace has it's way
Of bringing dark to light
Making the accuser the accused
Making the judger the judged
Tis not our place to judge
We must attempt to
See the grace in everything
Every bad thought
Weighs on the conscience
Of your soul
They may choose their fate
They may have been forced
But they still carry grace