Thank you to Nathan Lemon for the photo via Unsplash.

*Written 8/1/2013

On my way to Samaria
On my way back home
I saw several torn up people
And carriages overthrown
All running rather briskly
In the opposite direction
For no one dared
And no one cared
About Samaria’s resurrection

Everyone moved
Away from there
My hometown
Rundown and broken
The dirtiest of all hoods
Forsaken to all generations
And this road that they all ran down
And that I walked down
With a leisurely gait
Was said to be the path to hell
Were thieves and criminals
Await the innocent
To prey upon their persons

And then I saw one laying
Haphazardly to the side
And a feeling rather peculiar
Snuck into my heart
As I saw that one quivering man
Broken and bleeding
Beaten and bear
Laying across the brush
His skin and hair revealed
This was a runner

He belonged with the others
On the opposite side of the road
But that feeling crept in
Something like a warm light
I guess some would call it compassion
As everyone else fled the scene
I packed him over my shoulder
And carried him back to Samaria
Every step my shoulders grew heavy
But my feet somehow grew light
And as we entered Samaria
I began to take care of his plight

For wouldn’t I rather
Those who called out my broken home
To seek it for shelter
And wouldn’t I rather
Those who called out my broken home
Choose to care for our people
As I chose to care for him
So I cared
And tried to wipe the blood away