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.