Please enjoy.
Rod E. Kok
October 6, 2014
I wasn’t there on the morning he arrived,
it all happened too quick, too early.
Receiving a child from God
mimics perfection,
a glimpse of Heaven for a time.
Michael was born imperfect
(we all are),
his illnesses overcame
the fight he put up
(with help from his doctors).
What comfort is there,
amidst imperfection,
surrounded by
false perfectionism?
What comfort is there?
He fought, but lost the battle.
He tried, and won the war.
He fought, but lost the battle.
He tried, and won the war.
For in perfectly appointed time,
he passed
from my arms
to the most perfect arms
of Jesus.
he passed
from my arms
to the most perfect arms
of Jesus.
So, so sorry for your loss! Thank you for sharing this poem. Such sadness and fragility expressed here.
ReplyDeleteMy heart aches for you and yours.
ReplyDelete"Michael was born imperfect (we all are)"
That line really struck me...so true and well-put.