The Epileptic Boy*


Like a skilled Olympian

there was no space between

his head, heart and hands.

What Jesus said and did

was of a seamless weave.

His lips a salve of balm

to all the broken-hearted.

His look a burst of hope

to the joyless in the shadows.

His touch a mystic stream

of healing no one could imagine.


To parents everywhere strung

out on doubt and daily aching

for their childrenís future,

a bright shaft of light spiking

forward every halting step.


And so the epilepticís father

scarred to bone by the demonsí

self-destruction of his only son

sought the Savior in the suburbs.

Like the rising sun opening the tulipís

face, Jesus slowly pulled his faith

beyond the rim of earth to heaven.

Then he raised the wobbling boy

from dust, as he still does todayó

no space between his promise and his presence.



††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††† Jerome L. McElroy


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††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††† *Accepted in The Penwood Review (Fall 2009).