I was hungry
and you formed a humanities club
and you discussed my hunger.
Thank you.
I was imprisoned
and you crept off quietly
to your chapel in the cellar
to pray for my release.
I was naked
and in your mind
you debated the morality of my
appearance.
I was sick
and you knelt and thanked God
for your health.
I was homeless
and you preached to me
of the spiritual shelter of the
love of God.
I was lonely
and you left me alone to pray for me.
You seem so holy;
so close to God.
But I’m still very hungry
and lonely
and cold.
So where have our prayers gone?
What have they done?
What does it profit a man to page through his
book of prayers when the rest of the world is
crying for help?