My Pharisee in Samaritan clothing.

I crawled back to the wayside

Tired, beaten, bruised.

Again.

I crawled back to the wayside,

Wounded, scared, damaged.

Again.

I forced my eyelids awake

Though swollen and battered.

I forced my hopes alive

Though faded and tired.

 

I heard he came this way

But I was not here

I heard he searched for me

But I was long gone.

I followed a well-groomed Pharisee

All decked in Samaritan clothing

I pursued a priest in robes

All glittering in the sun

I courted a serving Levite

All ceremonial in frock

I should not have received your pity

But I was tired.

I should not have received your oil

But I was bruised.

I should not have received your wine

But I was fainting.

Again

I was beaten and bruised by you

So much more than the very  robbers

You came to save me from

You should have passed by on the other side.

 

I crawled back to the wayside

Tired, beaten, bruised.

Again.

I crawled back to the wayside,

Wounded, scared, damaged.

Again.

Strained eyes through swollen lids

Hoping he will return

Again

For the donkey I rode

Was guided most regrettably

By a Pharisee in Samaritan clothing.

 

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