The Panhandler
The panhandler sits on the street corner.
He asks me, "Spare some change? "
Like an empty vessel, I walk past him.
I see him as another empty vessel.
Some throw him a dime,
But I treat him as a vapor.
My spirit tugs at me.
My mind says he is a ghost,
But my ghost says he is real.
The currency he needs is my time.
He might be looking for his next fix,
But what will it fix?
Another lost soul, looking to get even more lost.
The root of all evil is planting another seed of discontent.
If my God is money,
Your free time has no value to me.
Anything that is free is void of value,
But time is really my only currency.
I only see the value of my own and not another's.
My account has no statement,
For when it is gone,
I will be broke.
I hoard it as if I were broke.
Investing only in myself.
It is why I feel broken.
Some time left in my breast pocket?
It beats to help he who is beat.
Spare time is something I have.
For it really is my true value,
Given from the heart of God.
If I lend some of mine to another,
It makes Him proud.
It is the core of my love.
It is the gift of His love.
He is truly my bank.
I bank on Him,
I count on Him,
I trust in Him.
Currency says "In God We Trust",
But can God trust in me?
Investing my time,
In one who is broke.
The dividend is joy.
The change in the pan will be spent.
Could he be searching for my gold?
I fill another's heart,
I see my investment grow.
With God's currency,
I am truly rich.
Though, I am only on borrowed time.
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poem by Ryan Lee Morris
Added by Poetry Lover
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