Innocent Poem by Stan Rodriguez

We see them on the street today
and pass them by—not caring why
they're there to our surprise.

What can I say? They don't belong,
they're just bums that smell and such
and may carry some rare disease—
avoiding work, they sit all day
with hands held outstretched—for us to pay
for their alcoholic drink.

But Stop and listen to my tale.

They're innocent of their plight—
they're back from war that set us free
only they didn't make it back alive—
Can't you see it in their eyes?

The color red—the blood that flowed
disfigured bodies, minds and souls.
The bended minds that relive all
the tears, the wounds, and loneliness
not knowing if their time will come
or even why they were there!

In the swamp's infected air, they slept
or in the burning sands of time
not knowing if they'd make it back
and who'd be waiting here, behind.

We send our best young to fight
for money's sake or some great light.

We have our nose everywhere
and lie, curse and swear that we belong
in the midst of it all
leaving treasure, blood and minds—
for someone else's crimes.

So, when you see the innocent don't stare
or curse them, but take care

Just smile and say hello and thank them
for what they gave and help them if you can.