Working in an institution: first time...

I stood with my back to the door as it slammed shut and locked
The man I was told about sat, crunched on the floor, back and forth on the balls of his feet he rocked

His arms curled around his legs
which were separated only to make room for his head

He wore the same style clothes as all the men on Ward Three
It’s hard to judge a person without some individuality

His hair, dark, greasy and pulled back in a ponytail
As I slowly approached him, he looked scared and frail

They called him Jesus - that’s what he called himself, they say
When they brought him onto this ward one day ago for him to stay

It was my job to talk to him, just talk and listen
So, when I got as close as I thought would be comfortable, I crouched down next to him

He looked up very slowly into my eyes,
and it was then that I was struck by his age
We must have been the same, he and I

I think that’s what got to me the most
That we’ve experienced the same years only his maybe were somewhere else - lost

He talked to me about Jesus because he believed he were He
While his hands were posed in prayer and he continued to rock
He’d cock his head in my direction as if to ask if I could agree

But I knew nothing of the subject that particular day
I was helpless to him in every kind of way

But what was unusual was that - I could not change what was in his head
What was I aspiring to? Maybe I could just provide new and different thoughts, in time, and instead.

Jesus was only the first to help me know and reflect
I can’t say I helped him any, but
He is who I began this and then there would be others next.