The Chains


United States
26° 42' 55.2492" N, 80° 3' 11.97" W

Cold cement. Dirty feet. Cold shoulder. Dirty look.
He asks himself, when was the transition from human to animal?
Every clink in his cup sounds like the rattling of chains.
He is bound.

The chains rub against his skin, burning and blistering.
But he never develops a callous.
Every pitying glance or blatant glare rub his chains even more.
The pain is deeper than the burning on his skin.

He tries to get up and walk
His chains don't let him make it far.
He collapses. Body and soul
The chains press him to the ground.

Why do you ignore the man in chains lying on the sidewalk?
You don't want to "add to his problem?"
If you didn't see the chains, you see them now.
No one can walk with a burden too heavy.

Will you help take the weight of his chains?


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