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.

Leave a comment

God does nothing but in answer to prayer.
— John Wesley
A Plain Account of Christian Perfection