Beggar’s Plea
To Christ at last, the beggar pleads,
his hollow hands stretched to the sky.
His voice, a prayer lost in his needs,
drowned beneath the world’s reply.
At the round earth’s imagined edge,
where day and darkness press—blends,
he walks the line, a shifting ledge,
seeking grace where the seeking ends.
Break of day! The world moves on,
indifferent to his humbled cries.
A sheaf of snakes coils in his deeds,
past missteps masked in thin disguise.
As angels call with voices dredged,
from sorrowed wells of light and air,
crucifying night with dawn,
a mercy he can barely bear.
For every sin and every stain,
the morning bends but does not break.
A plea for love, a prayer in pain,
a soul that begs for heaven’s sake.
WoPoLi 
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