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Angela Yarbrough

(Lansing, Michigan)

Mad Man


On the corner where he stood
Close by to a shopping cart
Carrying all that it could
Possessions dear to his heart

Flashing in a sequence known
Red, yellow, and green lights
As the cars stop and go

Uncombed hair matted so tight
Hanging down almost hiding
Bloodshot eyes with deep crows feet
With a beard long and straggling
His bed was the sidewalk
Down the block from where he stood
His pillow was made from rock
Wearing a coat with a hood
And for warmth tattered blankets
Praising God he spent his nights
Judging eyes did not know this
For the cause of Christ he'd fight

Yelling out like a mad man
He would preach the Gospel
God himself taught him The Word
That corner was his chapel

No one paid attention
To what this man was saying
But his supplication
Really needed attention paying

I heard him call on the Lord
So I listen for a while
And as he spoke The Word
The people all in denial

I looked at him very close
Upon him plain in sight
The spirit of Highest Host
Rested as joy was his light
I could not believe my eyes
I stood and heard the truth
While watching people pass by
Thinking if they only knew
How hard that God had tried

Submitted: Wednesday, February 12, 2014
Edited: Wednesday, February 12, 2014

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