There I lay, Seeing my shattered body,
Ruined and in great dismay,
I’ve been robbed, stolen from my freedom to be,
I lay with only my life clinging to me,
He I thought was my brother’s keeper,
Has brought me great stress in seeing me lay,
Not wanting to help,
How could this be?
Would I act the same way, if the scene was spun?
If I saw myself laying broken and beaten,
Would I be my brother’s keeper?
Or a thorn to his stomach,
But who is this? He that boosted in his religious freedom,
Called to lead, called to be a hand of help,
Will he help? Or will he not?
As I lay broken into pieces his sight I see not,
Not wanting to help in a state of distress,
Who? Who? I say is my brother’s keeper,
But he that is less I see come my way,
A Samaritan by birth his eyes on me are fixed,
How could this be? one that was not supposed to be my brother’s keeper,
He who was not my brother, but who kept me in his arms,
Healed my wounds And showed me great love,
Now I stand as a parable of time,
The story is told of my dismay,
Of my weakness in a time of pain,
Now I stand with my brother at hand,
I speak the words of my heart and rejoice,
Who I say, Is my Brother’s keeper?

Copyright (c) Juan N. Bonilla 2015 All Rights Reserved
Image Credit: (HERE)

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