I was hungry, and you formed a humanities club.
I was imprisoned, and you crept off quietly to pray for my release.
I was naked, and in your mind, you debated the morality of my appearance.
What good did that do?
I was sick, and you knelt and thanked God for your health,
But I needed you.
I was homeless, and you preached to me of the shelter of the love of God.
I wish you had taken me home.
I was lonely, and you left me alone to pray for me.
Why didn’t you stay?
You seem so holy, so close to God,
But I’m still very hungry, lonely and cold and I’m still in pain.
Does it matter?