You see me on corners, a sign in my hand,
On park benches, under bridges—wherever society lets me stand.
I freeze through the night, I wander all day,
Praying someone, somewhere, will let me stay.
You pass me by without a care,
I’ve grown accustomed to the stares.
But here is something you’ve forgotten:
I’m not just a vagrant—the trash, the trodden.
I am a father, a mother, a daughter, a son,
I am somebody’s lost loved one.
I may be an addict, I might love to drink,
I may be a gambler who never stopped to think.
But here is one truth I know for sure:
I am God’s child—a brother, a sister of yours.
So next time you see me, remember this plea:
See me as human, hurting, with needs.
It’s easy to look away. We’re busy, distracted, uncomfortable. We learn, sometimes without realizing it, how not to see certain people—those holding signs at intersections, those sleeping on benches, those standing where society has decided they’re allowed to exist.
I wrote this poem as a reminder. A reminder that every person we pass has a story, a name, and a history that didn’t begin at a street corner. Before the addiction, before the bad decisions, before the labels, there was a child. There was a family. There was love.
Scripture tells us that every human being is made in the image of God (Genesis 1:27). That truth doesn’t disappear when life unravels. It doesn’t fade because of addiction, poverty, or failure. God’s children don’t stop being His when they are hurting.
This poem isn’t meant to guilt or overwhelm. It’s simply an invitation—to look again. To see a human being instead of a problem. To remember that the person you pass today may be somebody’s lost loved one… and still God’s.
Matthew 25:40
[40] And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.’
Micah 6:8
[8] He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?