Barabbas, you sit upon a hill
Watching a man you never knew
Die in your place.
You should be happy to be free,
But sorrow hangs over you like a dark cloud.
Who is that dying man
Nailed to a cross between thieves?
What crime had he committed
that there were those who hated and feared him so
that they chose you should live in his stead?
Barabbas, you are the man that lived.
Written sometime in late 1970′s.
Tags: Poetry
