Small hands wringing, gripped by fear —

Guilty, scarlet blood clotting in HIS veins..

And WHO? Oh yes, I know

But daren’t tell.

I know those hands.

Line etched, callous, angry palms

Sweaty, grasping, always seeking more

YET NEVER SATISFIED.

Those hands reach out – invasive, fierce

Searching for I know not what.

THE LIGHT GOES ON. The hands pull back -

The smile, and gentleness returns.

Just tucking his beloved to sleep -

He acts so calm and self-assurred.

I HATE IT!!!! PANIC OVERTAKES!!!

What can I do?

I lie in my confusion, head all twirling ’round

Who is this sweet and smiley Dad

Who has those dreadful blood-stained palms?

I’m unaware, for from my spot

Too helpless and too young to know

I am the guileless, helpless one – whom Jesus love

But where is he, this Jesus now?

I NEED HIM NOW!!!

Julie-Anne Wingate. Copyright 2002. All Rights Reserved.

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