Today I saw him.
There but for the grace of God.
His jacket worn

He, in warm weather;
bundled up like it's freezing,
talking to himself.

I hear those voices.
I talk to them too some days.
I wandered in time.

City jail pads
are where they sent us to hide.
Just to be beat down.

I escaped that life.
Medicine and help was there.
I came to myself.

Social offenses,
An affront to guilty eyes.
Those voices plague them.

Wounded minds they are.
There but for the grace of God.
I just got lucky.