To the least of these my brethren.... (2)

You stumble in, all gray and black and brown hair - stringy and hanging shoulder length, unkempt unwashed. Your red and brown plaid, flannel shirt worn thin, so thin. Your eyes burning with messages of knowing, of seeing deep into the very pit of my soul, reading my thoughts, knowing all the things I think to myself, all the blasphemy that runs across the back of my tounge and slides back down my throat until it comes to rest in the pit of my stomach, where it sits and festers.
The bags and bags of all your worldly goods....my modern day messiah. Go out amongst the gentiles in these halls of learned men and waste away under watching stares of scorn and mocking contempt. Knowing. Always knowing - as any good messiah would - the hearts of men. Their darkest secrets become yours, all rotten to the core that they might be. Resting heavy in your mind are the thoughts of men and girls, boys and women and all the in betweens that come here into these hallowed halls to find their place....to find a place.....to find some semblance of truth. In their minds you become a spectre, a phantom of all the dark places that most would choose only to visit in the light of day, if even then.

It is in this light that I begin to see you for who you truly are. In this you are my brother. In this you are my father and my only one true friend. It is through these thoughts that you see so well that we are to be weighed and judged. To clothe the naked, feed the hungry, help the helpless - these are acts and acts alone.