All these signs of contradiction in my midst
The modern lepers who I refuse to kiss
I cannot deny the mystery that they are blessed
The poorest, wholly set apart from all the rest
Foolishness to the world and to me
Their suffering from which I turn so easily
But it isn’t righteousness I feel
But rather, as I turn the corner, the longing just to kneel
Who is my neighbour? I only start to grasp
When my two folded hands are firmly clasped
In prayer I come dependent before the throne
Naked, or in rags I do not own
Pleading mercy unworthily, like a beggar in the street
Broken and hungry, needing anything to eat
Love takes me in and Mercy shows me grace
As I barely look my own strangers in the face
The double standard between Holy Love and ours
Is the difference between a bystander
And a giving victim bearing scars.
