- Books, Literature, and Writing
Alms and a Heart of Gold - a Poem
There is little we can give, but it is okay if it is coming straight from the heart.
"Your alms no matter how small could cheer up a wounded, hungry, lonely soul. Please try your best to share for the rest- the needy in their needs, the unfortunate of all fortunes, the poor in poverty, street children who really matters whose childhood is shattered in their lives." ≈♥≈
"ALMS AND A HEART OF GOLD"
Papa’s little girl got up even before a cock's crow would soar
She crouched closer to kiss her papa, his eyes blurry but smiled at her;
The night she slept in hunger no trace of crumbs was left on the floor
A crooked shanty, a poor man’s home, and rusty pipe runs weak water.
In her tattered rags she wore again, a tiny dress concealed in stench
Her pint-sized feet rough and swollen, no slippers would stay;
“Try harder today.” her papa said as he lay on a wooden bench.
“Yes papa, I try hard each day.” her willing heart would silently say.
Moving about street and heat of hot-as-coal burning sidewalks
She looked around and up the sky to find Jesus to hear her cry
“Oh Jesus, may I carry home enough today from kind folks?”
“So my papa will bless me a tear and a smile, not wonder why.”
Then she sees and meets you, eagerly excited but with hollow hopes
Her fragile skinny arm stretches; shaking, she opens one palm or two
“Kind sir, please spare me a change.” she shyly, softly gropes
Determined, desperate, the voice and skeletal shadow trails behind you.
“Keep away. You are making me dizzy.” you shoved and mumbled.
God rewards a heart-of-gold, your kindhearted mother once told.
“Go, be gone. Does it really matter?” in your selfish mind you rumbled.
She aimed for your eyes and said, “Please sir, I am hungry and cold.”
They are out there. We couldn't be blind.
Where in your heart lies giving alms to the struggling poor?
What does your mind dictate in speaking of their anguish?
Why not unload your blotted burden; keep your heart an open door?
Was it too much for you to spare kind words instead of rubbish?
When have you showed emotion to the cries of the helpless?
When did you not believe in the innocent ruin of a soul?
In many moonless nights, a suppressing life along a margin is dealtless.
The only beggar child’s wish is an ebony sky, her captive life in parole.
Of the purest of hearts, their voices of mercy are heard repeatedly.
Can prayer be hurtful? The sad-eyed, a disgrace in the village of the rich.
Will there be an answer to curiosity? Behind a shadow, a blink of opportunity.
“Let the rich be poor, the poor be rich.” Would you be against the switch?
Another day, another time, you met eyes again with the beggar child
Your words to her she remembers but thought: "This is today. That was before."
A street angel she is, a smile so sweet; you halted and warmly smiled
Her hand you gently held, finding your voice you said, "Child, I'll hurt you no more."
Fruitless dreams of a fellow sheep, his lamb now kneeling below your feet,
Small alms you have, no second thoughts; she'll feel better at days end.
Her low faint breath you’ll take away meekly, if not, most complete.
You dug in your pocket and whispered, “A HEART of GOLD is the LOVE I'll spend.”