Visions play before my eyes like a movie
hale and brimstone
of the mother kind
a hurting child, crying alone
wanting food, and shelter, the comforts of home
a sick little one, without a mother’s care
or one flattened by a bullet coming from nowhere
I did not ask, but their terror is mine
in each child’s face, my own child’s shine.
Oh fragile bodies, vessels of hope
fate does deal you torments
that bring strong man to their knees
and shatter mothers’ gentle hearts.
Oftentimes, I find myself
and pray that hurt and peril
will never visit my child –
So, I watch them like a hawk
forbid all of their rough play
put them in the care of their angels
to keep them from harm’s way.
Yet, once, there was a Mother
whose heart was pierced by swords
How could she have born the shadow
of her Son’s death, as foretold?
Her love for her child
magnified the pain in her soul
her child’s suffering
could they be, instead, her own?
For all Her sorrow
she embraced the passion of her Son
with no consolation
but knowing that the Father’s will was done.
Then came that blessed morning
when Heaven was opened wide
Her Son’s victory over death
won for men the eternal reward.
This was written for Dverse Pub’s Meeting the Bar: Your Voice. But I did not make the cut-off time. 🙂