The consternation of a father,
as a precious child cries,
its power evokes the heavens,
as he seeks to turn the tide,
and in the dungeons of his heart,
a prisoner groans,
remembering days now past,
when pain became his home.
The fears that ply a mother’s soul,
as hungry toddlers ask her “why”.
She has no job that brings the dough,
and so hates her life also.
The future looms with horror’s mist,
which thickens slow and grey,
then devours greedily
as silence weeps her tears.
And while I seek, so weak and small,
to change this moment’s need.
I come with little in my hand ,
but eyes that see a God that breathes.
Then in this nexus peace is born,
as hope’s eyes sparkle with surprise
while arms of grace so wise
heal hearts with bread that’s real.
Author – Bill Tidsbury