I was hungry, and you formed a humanities club to discuss my hunger.
I was imprisoned, and you crept off quietly to your chapel 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’d 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, cold, and still in pain.
Does it matter?