The Messengers Poem by Alexander Onoja

There are still kids on the street,
sleeping undernourished beside gutters.
With grim faces from summer's heat,
sprawled in the dust beside dumpsters.
Where are the messengers?

There are still people who need our prayers,
with meek humblest and afflicted mood.
Who frequent garbage dumpsters,
scrounging for food.
They fight for life,
with scratches and bruises ignored,
collecting alms in tear drops.
Where are the messengers?

There are still needies out there,
with pieces of worn out clothing and matted hair.
With outstretched hands and doleful pleas,
uncowed by their crawling knees,
sinking deep into vicious ground,
with gnarled lips uttering no sound.
Who are the messengers?

Those who won't put wool over people's face,
who won't hit the sack until help is rendered.
Those whose:
generosity comes from their heart,
and not from their wealth.
Those are the messengers.
We are the messengers.
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#Tribute to THE MESSENGERS, a group bent on reaching out to the less privileged. More grease to your elbows.