There he lies, alongside the other men. On the corner of the street. Which is what life has brought them to. Unfortunately.
It is his story. Perhaps his new story. For what he had known before is not what he knows now. He has an identity. Somehow erased by societies definition of “acceptance”.
He has a name. An identity. He is human. Just like you and me. Two eyes, two ears. Lips and a nose. Two legs and arms. A body.
He speaks a language you and I both know. We can converse with him. We truly can. But our selfishness and pride programs us to think we’re far better then him, so we think.
We’re only here for the passing. For under the sun we dance together and unders the stars we sleep to the same lullaby tune.
The One who created us. Knows him too. For He created him too. And He knows him by name. He knows how many hairs he has on his head. For He had known him before time began. And will know him after time has passed. For in heaven we shall meet again, where we’ll be but one.
“I’m not a hobo man”. Yes my brother, you are not. For we breathe the same air and we both have a Father who loves us just the same.
‘I’m not a hobo man, ask me for my name, then call me by my name’.
‘You’re not a hobo man, I’ll ask you for your name, then call you by your name’.