Child Of God Poem by jane solanrobertson

Beneath a room
Where cherubs slept
You lay
Putrescent
Among life's other discards:
Empty paint pots
Rusty mower
Old sleeping bag;
Your bony body stiffly curved
Like a coiled spring
In a clock that would never again tick
Taut grin
And stick limbs peppered with sores
Through which
Intravenous joys once flowed.

Only now,
Solitary
Undignified
Waiting for the maggots
And the curious child
And those upright citizens
Who will shrug and say
'Did you know - the druggie's dead?
Serves him right, '
Never dreaming that
You had been a child of God
Dragged up in Hell's damnation.