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