Christmas Eve thoughts
reach for security
tiny hands with fingers curled
knows not what will be.
Into the world of light and pain
into the world of sin
the babe emerged from its home
a place as safe as Heaven.
Cold strikes the infant's skin
and the little boy inhales
taking in the air of Earth
and all that Earth entails.
His tiny feet and toes
are counted once, then twice
then wrapped in warmth and love
to make him feel so nice.
Before his searching hands
are wrapped up warm and tight
his little palms are kissed
then tucked in for the night.
His mother's face in wonder
searches his deep dark eyes
and marvels at the miracle
of a soul so old and wise.
With the sounds and smells of a stable
surrounding the event of all time
God brought forth his promise,
The King, The Savior devine.
As she kissed his precious fingers
His mother did not understand
that one day she would see
nails driven into those hands.
And his feet would be bound
and nailed to a cross of shame
so that all the world could be saved
by calling upon his name.
As Mary nursed the child
and pondered what God had done
she whispered his name, Jesus
and knew he was The One.
Poetry by Phyllis J. Rhodes
Read 611 times
Written on 2009-12-25 at 05:56
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The Event of All Time
Startled arms so smallreach for security
tiny hands with fingers curled
knows not what will be.
Into the world of light and pain
into the world of sin
the babe emerged from its home
a place as safe as Heaven.
Cold strikes the infant's skin
and the little boy inhales
taking in the air of Earth
and all that Earth entails.
His tiny feet and toes
are counted once, then twice
then wrapped in warmth and love
to make him feel so nice.
Before his searching hands
are wrapped up warm and tight
his little palms are kissed
then tucked in for the night.
His mother's face in wonder
searches his deep dark eyes
and marvels at the miracle
of a soul so old and wise.
With the sounds and smells of a stable
surrounding the event of all time
God brought forth his promise,
The King, The Savior devine.
As she kissed his precious fingers
His mother did not understand
that one day she would see
nails driven into those hands.
And his feet would be bound
and nailed to a cross of shame
so that all the world could be saved
by calling upon his name.
As Mary nursed the child
and pondered what God had done
she whispered his name, Jesus
and knew he was The One.
Poetry by Phyllis J. Rhodes
Read 611 times
Written on 2009-12-25 at 05:56
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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