Tuesday, August 7, 2012


His coat was tattered
Due to storms a plenty
Which had both come and gone
Throughout his short life.

His feet were not shod,
Never with peace,
But were bare and seemed
To say anything but solace. 

They were calloused and hard,
Very much like his heart,
Because of early years of abandon,
Middle years of hurt, and now just much pain.

The physical pain
He had learned to endure,
But 'tis a hard lesson indeed
To learn how to cope with emotional.

His scars on the skin
He was forced to see everyday,
And they made his heart bleed
As memories flooded his being.

Not one good memory
Could he bring to his head
But only terrifying ones
He kept having to relive.

Memories of abandon,
Of hate, and not love,
Of pain, and not healing,
Of things below, not of above.

His scars grew deeper
With each passing day
And salted by all
Who passed on their way.

Once, he envied those
Who seemed never to have problems,
But because of their treatment
His envy turned to hate.

No one had ever loved him,
Never took his crying hands,
Never kissed his wet cheek
Just rubbed it in the sand.

His eyes, he was sure,
Would always be red
From all the tears he had cried
Upon many a bed.

His poor crying heart
After ages of sanding
Had become calloused hard
And now heeded not the grating.

'Twas believed that he possessed
Not one pliable area in his being
But sometimes one needs not soft,
For some things are able to crush through rock.

This man so poor, so lonely, so sad
Was so hopelessly lost 'twas thought
That there was no hope to be found
So no one thought twice.

Until a young child perceived 
Not a man in torn clothes
Not the grumpy old face
Not the crooked and bent nose,

What that child saw, only he could say
For that day he saw a man in pain.
He saw a bleeding heart
He saw those red eyes.

He saw the pain, the hurt
And the rejection too,
And although the child understood not why,
He knew what he must do.

The child tore away from his mother
And ran to the pitiful man,
And without stopping
Ran straight into him.

He wrapped his arms around him
And squeezed him tight,
He said that Jesus loved him,
And that he would be alright.

The man in tatters was surprised
And very much embarrassed
But embarrassment didn't matter
For someone cared enough to notice him.

He hugged the child back,
As tears streamed down his face,
He then asked the child a question
Who was the Jesus who loved him?

The child explained as only a child can,
How the Son of God came and became a man,
He took all our sins in His body on the tree,
And then He died for you and me.

The man did not need anything more,
He had been so hopeless for so long,
This little glimmer of hope
Looked more like the shining of the sun.

Through the witness of a child, 
This poor man's life was changed,
He was given hope when none could be found,
So can we not do the same?

If a child so small could give a simple hug,
Can we not love our neighbor?
And give them a hug when they are hurting?
And love them when they lose hope?

Through Christ we find the strength,
And love overflowing,
Enough to share with all the world,
Why are you not going?

Share the love with friends,
With family, with everyone around.
Let Christ so fill your life,
So through you Christ can be found.


Poohbear said...

Awww! such a wonderfull post!!!

Your BFF

Shelley said...

Beautiful poem Buttercup! I love the wonderful story it tells! Thanks for sharing! :)