The Grim

The Grim

If each of you, who cast first stones,
could live within the shoes,
Of those whose lives are skin and bones,
and shunned from public views.

You wouldn't pass them on the street,
and turn an unseeing eye.
Instead you'd lend a helping hand,
if only you would try.

Each story has a beginning,
we're born the exact same way,
But like a baseball inning,
a life changes every day.

In death we share the same repose,
when life comes to its end.
It's there when both our eyes we close,
we cease to be a friend.

For God will take you unto Him,
and shelter you for life.
Or will He pass you to the Grim,
where you'll feel both pain, and strife?