A Poem Inspired by Matthew 4:21-22
Along the quiet margin of the sea
Where patient waters breathe upon the sand,
Two brothers worked beneath the waking sky,
Their weathered hands made faithful by the years.
The boats were worn by storms and salted wind,
The nets still smelled of tides and midnight toil,
And gulls above them traced their circling paths
Like wandering thoughts that never come to rest.
Their father sat within the sturdy hull,
A man whose days were measured out by waves,
Whose eyes had learned the language of the deep
And read the temper of the changing winds.
Beside him lay the nets in careful folds,
Each knot a memory of labor past,
Each thread a quiet promise cast again
Upon the restless breathing of the sea.
The morning held a silence in its light,
A pause as though the world itself had drawn
A single breath before an unseen word.
The tide withdrew with whispers on the shore,
And somewhere far beyond the silver line
Of trembling water touching distant sky
There stirred a voice not carried by the wind
Yet strong enough to summon mortal hearts.
They heard Him walking on the fragile edge
Where land and sea exchange their ancient vows.
No trumpet marked the passing of His step,
No crown of gold announced His hidden power;
Yet in His gaze there burned a deeper dawn
Than any sunrise rising from the east.
He spoke as one who knew the tides of souls,
As one who read the currents of the heart.
His words were simple as the rising tide,
Yet vast as all the waters of the world.
Follow Me.
The syllables were quiet on the air,
Yet in them moved a kingdom yet unseen,
A widening shore where other nets would fall
And other lives would gather in their sweep.
The brothers looked upon their father's hands,
Still busy with the mending of the mesh.
They saw the years that clung to every rope,
The long inheritance of patient toil.
The boats had borne their names upon the waves;
The nets had known the rhythm of their days.
Here was the life the sea had taught them well,
A life as steady as the turning tide.
Yet something in that voice had stirred the depths
No anchor ever held within their souls.
It was not force that drew them from the shore,
Nor fear of storms nor dreams of distant lands.
It was the sudden knowledge in the heart
That every road had always led to this.
They rose as dawn breaks softly through the dark.
The nets slipped gently from their willing hands,
Like autumn leaves released from patient trees.
The boat remained, the father watching still,
The quiet sea reflecting silver light.
No thunder rolled across the morning sky,
No mountains trembled at their silent choice.
Yet heaven marked the moment faithfully.
For in that leaving something vast began:
A path that wound through villages and hills,
Through storms of doubt and nights of weary miles,
Through broken bread and words that healed the blind,
Through crosses rising dark against the sky
And empty tombs where death had lost its claim.
The sea behind them whispered to the shore,
As though it knew the story yet to come.
The boats would rock upon familiar tides,
The father mend the nets with patient care,
But those who walked beyond the shining sand
Had cast their lives upon a deeper sea.
And still the morning lingered in the air,
A quiet witness none could fully name.
Two brothers walking where a stranger led,
Their footsteps fading softly from the shore,
While far behind them nets lay in the boat
Like sleeping threads of all they used to be.
And on the road ahead, the unseen tide
Was drawing countless hearts into its reach.
No comments:
Post a Comment