SOMEBODY’S SON

In a city wrapped in twilight’s embrace
A young man wanders, lost in his place.
Wearing dirty clothes and with weary eyes,
He’s adrift beneath the somber skies.

A makeshift tent is now his home,
A construction tarp, tattered and old.
What he carries is his net worth,
Seemingly forgotten on this earth.

People see him every day;
A few offer help, but most turn away.
Labeled as a vagrant or a bum,
Everyone forgets he’s somebody’s son.

When he was young, he had a home.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was his own.
But something robbed him of that life:
Drugs, dysfunction, or internal strife.

The prodigal’s path seems to be a dead-end street,
Littered with lives who are lost in defeat.
With dreams shattered and spirits low,
They wander alone, thinking they’ve nowhere to go.

Little do they realize many have gone on before,
Finding hope and an open door.
Redemption’s light can always break free,
Guiding the lost back to where they should be.

Never forget Jacob and Moses fled from their past,
While Joseph, in chains, into slavery was cast.
Jeremiah, the prophet, was labeled unstable,
And even Jesus, our Savior, was without a pillow.

Return is possible, no matter how remote,
With a little bit of grace and a whole lot of hope.
So when you see the homeless before you criticize or shun,
Remember this: he’s somebody’s son.