The Time is Coming.

Some say they are immigrants out just for greed,

searching the atlas for a life they don’t need.

‘There’s no space here. Go there instead.’

To a tent in the rain with the cold for a bed.

All of them the same with one story to tell,

yet, we wake up each day, believing we live in hell.

The devastation is felt for the ones that have fell,

by the few that are willing to stand up and to yell.

I have bread I will share.

I have water to pour,

I am a soul, free

to walk out my door.

With shame in my heart

I look to their eye’sĀ 

a world full of people

asking the why’s.

Why travel so far? Why leave at all?

Who cares for the slaughter or the children that fall.

Why come to us? There’s no room at the inn.

Turning them away is surely a sin?

A sin to a God forgotten and lost

belief in humanity is too big a cost.

The angels are counting the eternal loss,

of those that are watching, their hearts etched with frost.

I have blankets to share

and a space on my floor.

I am a soul, that

will open my door.

With pride in my heartĀ 

I look to their eye’s,

they stand in the rain,

‘Help them.’ they cry.

These people aren’t wrong, there’s no answer to this.

It cannot be repaired by a soft tender kiss.

But we must open up to the angels that flee,

believe in the truth, not the greed that we see.

Our world is corrupt our future is bleak

as politicians destroy all those that are weak.

So I ask you just this, will you stand up and speak?

Or hide behind images designed for the meek.