Diary Entry 88

Three men stand

before The Lord,

bloodied hands outstretched,

and with loving eyes

are gently explored.

What do you see

My dearest sons?

Are there not five

fingers upon each one?

In their shadow,

does similarity smear,

reduced to none?

One man answered,

hate upon his tongue;

the other one spat back

words that bit and stung.

The Lord turned

for the third man,

nothing was said;

shadow had long covered

what his eyes once scanned.

I have no answer

the man did whisper;

for I see nothing,

but I can feel what hate

has through here twisted.

The Lord looked back,

to men whose eyes

shown clarity and light,

and shook His head

at their wasted sight.

Hands were given

to build and mend,

not lent for some past

to break and offend.

It is the blind

who see you and see me,

and sight that steals

what once you had freely.

For it only takes

one pair of hands

to destroy that

for which I stand.

When those hands

are severed from you,

what will another pair

be justified in doing?

Are they right and just

in their hateful cries?

Are they deemed a sinner

when they take a life?

The two did answer,

anger now quietly hushed

by a commonality –

death’s silent push.

Was it our hands

that took our lives?

It was, My sons,

those dreadful knives.

All color left behind

from their forgiving eyes,

nothing but a wounded man

stood by the other’s side.

Now able to truly see

there stood a third man,

they turned to the Lord

asking why he there stands.

The Lord gazed at them both

and began to speak,

please listen both of you

for this is what I now seek…

It only takes

one pair of hands

to repair that

for which I stand.

When those hands

are outstretched to another

what will the other pair

be bound to discover?

Will they be right and just

in the prayers they bind?

Will they be deemed a savior

when through them I shine?

This blind man died

by hateful hands;

between the two of you

he chose to stand.

For it is blindness

that kills you and kills he;

death now binds what together

you can truly see.

One wounded man

dies with another,

and a last breath

sounds the same

regardless of color.



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