Whole Note

If I only reach out to Him, I will be made whole.
—A woman (1st cent. AD)

Anemic for twelve years
No strength to rise from bed.
Without hope—without hope
No song to hum in joy.

I fetch water to clean
My dirty rags and skin.
Without hope—without hope
Don’t You hear my prayers?

Stained with guilt—low self worth
My speech is soft and weak.
Without hope—without hope
Can’t You get me better?

A bleeding heart and tears
Drips for years still oozing.
Without other options
I touch Your hem—and heal.

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1 comment so far

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  1. Matt,

    I love your painting that is in my bedroom. Your poem is so touching. You keep amazing me.