The Edge of His Cloak
But this man like no man no devil
No magician could perform like He performed
Applauded loved hated doubted crowded
A woman unknown undesirable friendless bleeding
Walking in circles with the sting and the strain
She was in a trap between life and death
heaven and hell and yet she heard
This man called the Son of Man a doctor of sorts
A doctor with no appointment necessary
Who heals asking for nothing but faith
But she was a woman in a man’s world
Nothing left to offer her pockets were emptied
By so many healers feeding their coffers
Nothing left she could only offer faith
Her agony grew she knew if only she could
Arriving walking with a crushing crowd
Nothing left to give she wanted to live
She jostled crept shoved pushed in weakness
In the chaos in the turbulence with so many crowding Him
She lunged touching the edge of His cloak
And what money couldn’t do He did in a heartbeat
Jostled and pushed the Son of Man could feel her faith
Even in the chaos
Frank Black Blacharczyk
Luke 8:42-48
Copyright © Frank Black Blacharczyk | Year Posted 2020
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment