The servant he came
And the servant withdrew
To blend in with the crowd
And speak for the few
Who were lost in the race
And fighting for space
While the tides he did turn
In the end he was spurned
The servant he spoke
With a grace and a wit
He shot from the heart
He shot from the hip
While the powers that be
From his words they did flee
Though he gave them a glance
They never gave him a chance
The servant arrived
To put an end to the hate
Who would have known
It would lead to his fate
While the crooked still judge
And the world holds a grudge
On the sinners and saints
Not the heartless who taint
The servant he built
A house on a rock
And we are the ones
Splitting up the block
Does it now lay in ruins
What are we doing
Do we add to his art
Or just tear it apart
Now the servant he watches
Over life’s little game
He belongs to the meek
The sick and the lame
Who are we to contest
Suggest or protest
Or even lay claim
To the love of his name
so beautiful and true dearest Brandon ❤️
Thank you Crimsin
I really dig the subtle description of the savior. I went back and read it again, knowing more exact the person you’ve wrote of.
It’s a good write and you should be proud with the result. Great job.
Thank you so much! Your words are very appreciated!
Amen, Brandon. Into the book it belongs! Excellent write my friend. An appropriate story for Easter indeed. Amazing write with a powerful message. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thanks Damian. Glad I still have those notebooks. They have seen some travels.