In Honor of Street Youth

Darlene and I spent the weekend in Cedar Rapids, Iowa.  Great "Poetry and Coffee Night" with the Central Church -- dessert, coffee, original poetry -- lots of fun and fundraising! Here is my poem, written as I thought about the pathos and pain involved with sleeping on the streets.

SHADOW PLAY

Shadows play on darkened alleyway

As boys gather at end of day

A shadow propped like a scene from the manger

Cut deep from bottle broken in anger

His story legion, abandoned one

Has not enjoyed childhood fun.

Once he was home, a child desired

New wife said no, Dad was tired,

Blind to the deeds of his mate,

Who for her own child's sake learned to hate,

Little food, no bed, driven out,

His worth, his hope, his heart, reduced to doubt.

In the city he disappears,

No one to listen or see his tears,

Slowly blood seeps into the shirt

And mingles with trash in the dirt.

Someone must come, come to bind,

But most of the world is blind.

If there is none to come, none to find,

Then the world loses piece (sp?) of mind.

Shadows play on walls we see

This child of destiny.

Lifted, bound, healed, sent,

He fulfills all that was meant.

But will he see the light of day,

Will he run and laugh and play,

Will he have his heart restored,

Is there someone who ceases to hoard

And answers the call from the dark place

And shines the light on this little face?

29 March 2009

by charles coulston