Stigmata of the Forgotten

By: Don Pax

In alleyways and shadows, they reside,
Bearing wounds unseen by passersby.
Their crosses heavy, their burdens deep,
A world that turns away, refusing to see.

Nail-pierced hands reach out in vain,
For mercy, for comfort, to ease the pain.
Thorn-crowned heads bow low in shame,
Excluded from life’s grand, gilded game.

But in their suffering, a light still burns,
A flame of hope that never turns.
For in their wounds, we see our own,
The shared humanity we’ve long outgrown.

In their scars, a sacred story’s told,
Of strength unbroken, spirits bold.
Through pain and darkness, they endure,
Their resilience, a balm, a cure.

Let us stand with those cast aside,
Their stigmata are a bridge, not a divide.
In solidarity, we’ll bear their plight,
And lift the crucified into the light.