The Blind

Gnarled hands,
Wrapped round a twisted staff,
Shaken by age
And life,
Clutching the
Warped wood
Which is vision
And life:
Aged hands,
Weakened by time,
You are stronger than I.

Vacant eyes,
Cursed from birth,
Misty pools
Sunken in a sea of lines,
Unmindful of the
Careless strand of silvered hair;
Mysterious lights
Roaming back and forth,
Scanning all, but
Seeing nothing:
Sightless eyes,
Darkened since creation,
You see more than I.

And I sit before you,
In wonder,
Listening to your
Dancing voice
Playing out the
Many dramas of life,
Watching your
Ancient form
Move with
Infinite grace,
Despite its frailty;
And I know
That I am the one
Who is weak
And blind.

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And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose.
— Romans 8:28