Was wretched like a boat
In the middle of the sea
By a mighty storm.

Was like the blue moon
That never really appears
To glow the darkness of night.

Was that hand that touches,
Though unseen by senses.
Troubled minds find truth.
Rest acquired.

Was that shoulder,
So tiny for me.
Big enough to shoulder you.

Was that stick that leads
The blind man on
To the place he sees
But I do not.

The spoon that feeds
The hunger of hearts and souls.
The hanky that dries your eyes.

The brush that dusts off
Your ugly past.
The pen that lovingly
Gives strength for today
Hope for tomorrow
A bright future.
The feet that trend the unknown land
To the uncharted waters

The Holy book speaks this of me,
I am the surety of what is hoped for
And the evidences of what is not seen.

© sarah n.