The Silence in Chaos

The Silence in Chaos

In her culture she knew her place,
a woman, diseased in body;
she was ostracized in her coming and going, out of place.

Flesh ravaged within for twelve long years.
The days pined away her spirit, leaving her with no strength to live;
feeling hopeless, with no advocate, she wrestled with a faith to believe.

One day grew into all the others,
sunrise to sunrise, merging longer, each more weary.
She whispered pleas to heaven, ringing hollow, they felt empty.

'Foolery' spoke in another voice,
with heart stabs: “He is not real, nor does He listen or care.”
Endless in torment, assaulting the promise, He would appear.

The Prophet wrote in the Torah, words that He would speak.
To be worn as a reminder of the commands of The Lord,
“blue chords with tassels, hung on fringed corners of a garment's cloak.”

A crusty Prophet named Malachi, dreamt words of the Messiah's coming.
Tassels dangling on the corners of a Hebrew prayer shawl:
“The sun of righteousness will rise on wings of healing.”

Buried in a hostile crowd, one by one, she pushed forward,
a carpenter's cloak and corner tassel, her focus.
She believed His promise, as a moment of healing stood motionless.

In a hornet nest of culture, confusion and yelling,
Messiah's eyes searched out her touch, a pleading faith more than willing.
Her body made whole, by His power and promise.

Shalom flowed freely from His eyes into her being.
Hushed crowds watched His goodness,
rise on the wings of her healing.

The power of His peace,
rested upon her the remainder of her days,
for He touched every bit of her soul, with an eye opened gaze.