My Child, Get Up!

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ChrisTillinen

Active member
Sep 16, 2022
209
133
43
#1
In the gentle heart of Capernaum I was raised
God-fearing parents caring for every need
In synagogue where the Lord was praised
It was my father who gratefully got to lead

Yet blessed with only twelve years of age
I felt the cold grip of sickness taking hold
There was a man seen as a prophet or a sage
Worry united with love and made my father bold

Having witnessed that man's great power before
In words where his authority was explicit
He could just stand waiting and praying no more
Went and found him to humbly ask for a visit

Sickness dragged me near the door of death
Where I fell through the angelic veils
As deep sleep drew me through tunnel's breadth
A vision restored sight like falling scales

In death I felt more awake than ever before
When starting to walk toward the light
In footsteps of ones already on the shore
Encouraged by the gentle glow in sight

I cannot explain it but somehow I knew
In the warm glow of his everpresent love
The one who reached hand from other side
Was next to my bed and watching from above

In my soul I saw him as pleasant light ahead
But my body felt his gentle healing touch
Taking me by hand to lead away from the dead
I had never felt so whole or loved as much

Like a potter restoring a badly broken vessel
He healed my body and opened my soul's eyes
Words commanding life made a troubled soul settle
He called me his own and told me to rise
 

ChrisTillinen

Active member
Sep 16, 2022
209
133
43
#2
As is probably evident enough, this is based on the Gospel accounts of Jesus raising the daughter of Jairus from the dead. One could perhaps question whether it is appropriate to let one's imagination run and produce additional details like what she may have experienced during those moments, but perhaps that can be allowed in the context of poetry.
 

ebdesroches

Well-known member
Aug 20, 2022
781
410
63
74
#3
In the gentle heart of Capernaum I was raised
God-fearing parents caring for every need
In synagogue where the Lord was praised
It was my father who gratefully got to lead

Yet blessed with only twelve years of age
I felt the cold grip of sickness taking hold
There was a man seen as a prophet or a sage
Worry united with love and made my father bold

Having witnessed that man's great power before
In words where his authority was explicit
He could just stand waiting and praying no more
Went and found him to humbly ask for a visit

Sickness dragged me near the door of death
Where I fell through the angelic veils
As deep sleep drew me through tunnel's breadth
A vision restored sight like falling scales

In death I felt more awake than ever before
When starting to walk toward the light
In footsteps of ones already on the shore
Encouraged by the gentle glow in sight

I cannot explain it but somehow I knew
In the warm glow of his everpresent love
The one who reached hand from other side
Was next to my bed and watching from above

In my soul I saw him as pleasant light ahead
But my body felt his gentle healing touch
Taking me by hand to lead away from the dead
I had never felt so whole or loved as much

Like a potter restoring a badly broken vessel
He healed my body and opened my soul's eyes
Words commanding life made a troubled soul settle
He called me his own and told me to rise
This is so good! Touching
 

ChrisTillinen

Active member
Sep 16, 2022
209
133
43
#5
Thanks for the positive feedback, ebdesroches and Moses_Young. I wasn't quite as sure about this one as some of my other poems. I remember struggling a bit to keep it "poetic" while also roughly following a narrative of events. That seems (to me anyway) more difficult than if the subject matter is either more abstract or very personal. But I'm happy if you like the end result.
 

ebdesroches

Well-known member
Aug 20, 2022
781
410
63
74
#6
My advice: keep the poetic part down and reveal His love to you and your love to Him. Its that heart that may touch others to be drawn to Him. If their heart is not fertile it wont matter anyway!