The Opening of the Eyes

A Poem Inspired by Matthew 9:29-31

Along the dust-white road where olives lean,

Two figures walked in darkness yet with sight

Of something brighter than the noon between

The hills that drank the slow descending light.

For though their eyes were sealed against the day,

Their hearts had heard a rumor on the wind—

A healer passed; a voice had come their way;

A mercy walked the earth among all men.

They followed sound as sailors follow stars

Half-seen through mist upon a restless sea.

Their world was woven close with hidden bars,

Yet hope beat faintly like a distant plea.

And through the murmur of the gathered crowd

Their voices rose like larks against the dawn:

“O Son of David!” crying long and loud,

“Have mercy now before the light is gone.”

The multitude like shifting grain replied

With murmurs, doubts, and gestures cast aside.

Some bade them hush; some turned away their face;

But faith is stubborn as the roots of grace.

For in the dark a promise may be heard

More clearly than in fields of open sight;

The soul will cling to one remembered word

As travelers cling to fire against the night.

At last within a quiet house He stood,

Where shadows lingered softly on the wall.

The blind men entered as the hopeful would—

With trembling breath, yet trusting through it all.

And there the question fell, both plain and deep,

Like rain that searches every waiting field:

“Believe you this?” A silence seemed to keep

The breath of heaven, half-revealed, concealed.

“Yes, Lord,” they said; the answer small yet vast,

A fragile bridge from earth to mystery cast.

Not proof they held, nor sight to guide their claim,

But only trust that burned like hidden flame.

Then gentle hands—more tender than the spring—

Rested upon the darkness of their eyes,

And words were spoken, quiet as a wing:

“According to your faith, receive the skies.”

So light broke open like a lifted veil,

And colors rushed where night had once been king;

The hills stood tall, the valley wide and pale,

The world became a thousand-burnished thing.

Faces appeared like lanterns newly lit,

The dust itself seemed bright beneath their feet,

And in their sight the very air was knit

With living gold the morning could not beat.

Yet mercy walks with wisdom close beside,

And softly then the healer spoke once more:

“See that no word of this be spread abroad;

Let silence guard what heaven has in store.”

For wonders sometimes blossom best unseen,

Like lilies hidden deep in forest shade;

The holiest things may walk the world between

The quiet hearts where faith itself is made.

But joy, once kindled, leaps like wind-fed fire;

No vessel long can hold its brimming light.

Their tongues ran swift with glad and bright desire,

Their story spilled across the towns in flight.

For how could men who once had dwelt in night

Contain the dawn now rising in their sight?

And so the tale moved outward through the land—

A whisper first, then ringing clear and wide:

That faith had met a healing, guiding hand,

And darkness broke where mercy would abide.

Still somewhere on that ancient road of dust

The echo lingers through the years that pass:

That sight begins where trembling hearts will trust,

And grace walks near where faith dares simply ask.