The Blind Man Who Saw Jesus

The Blind Man Who Saw Jesus

A shadowed road beneath worn feet,

Dust rose slow in summer heat,

Voices passed without a name,

Until the healer softly came.

His empty eyes had learned the cold,

The ache of stories never told,

Then mercy brushed his weathered skin,

And poured a living sunrise in.

The crowd stood still beside the gate,

A broken soul transformed by fate,

He saw the trees, the sky, the land,

The scars and kindness in each hand.

Tears rolled warm across his face,

He stared in awe at boundless grace,

The world once hidden from his sight,

Now burned alive with endless light.

Children danced beside the road,

Birdsong lifted every load,

Even stones seemed bright that day,

As darkness slowly slipped away.

He looked upon the healer’s eyes,

A calm more vast than endless skies,

No riches placed within his palm,

Only peace, enduring calm.

The years had carved deep lines of pain,

Yet hope returned like summer rain,

A lonely heart no longer small,

Finally able to see it all.

He followed where the teacher led,

With living faith where fear had bled,

The blind man saw far more than trees,

He found a soul set free at last.

#Marie381UkWriter