It gets worse.
I stood by the wall,
Watched, arms
Crossed. Sweat
Rolled
Down my calves.
He sat with the word,
Taut, eyes
Bright, spirit
Filled,
Power upon him.
The scribes listened,
Learnèd, ears
Closed, long
Deaf,
With doubt teeming.
Crowds I know,
Masses of people
Pressed, hosts
Sick
With desperate lives.
But this was new,
Unmatched, not
Foreseen: one
Great
Mystery to behold.
For the sky
Fell, the roof
Caved in
Commanding:
Pay attention.
A fragment of plaster upon my sleeve
Disturbing my ennui.
What manner of message is this for me?
What portent from heaven?
But no great mystery to be revealed:
A mere hole in the roof–
A litter is lowered, a man inside,
Come with faith to be cured.
He forgives the man’s sin!
Scribes shook heads,
Muttered, not
Believing, thought:
Blasphemous!
Worst suspicions confirmed.
He looked in their minds,
Knew thoughts,
Called them
Evil.
Called me, too.
As a sign, he then
Said Rise
and walk,
Healed.
Which power is greater?
I cower inside,
Known–I
Blaspheme, I
Suspect.
Can I be saved?
What reason have I,
Doubt, or
Belief? Both
Warring
Within my soul.
I have done no hard
Work, haven’t
Sought. I’m
Fearful.
Why did he come to me?
I am
paralyzed.
Heal me, Lord.
Peter reflects on the events of Luke 5.
How many of us have our arms
crossed?
Fabulous phrasing for emphasis. Convicting but not shaming (at least to me).
Thanks, Jenn! I don’t often go in for that approach with line breaks, but it just really felt right for this piece. Something about the deconstruction of the roof.