Suffer The Children

Suffer the Children

They are lined up straight and close,
like a chinese dragon costume.
Wiggling and moving endless feet,
their coat colors blurring.

Door to the classroom opens and they file in,
like beads funneled into a bottle.
Spilling in quickly defying space,
and gravity to gain entrance,
assembling in circle time formation,
with cross-legged eagerness.

Roll call and one is not here.
Is he coming today?,
they ask each day.
For weeks they ask.

They do not understand,
that he cannot come back.
Not Yet.
I cannot and will not convey,
the picture to them.

Smoothing raven locks,
and caressing the bruised face.
His countenance is sad,
even though he is not inside.

He appears even smaller.
How is that possible?
He was small even for his own clothes.
Always tugging his belt,
to keep lazy denim from falling south.


Thinking of one such day,
when pants slipped to his ankles,
we all howled in good-natured laughter.
He grinning broadly while holding,
the recovered pants.
In this quiet,hushed space,
I laugh thinking about it,
through hot and angry tears.

For I saw on that day I saw,
mottled black and blue legs.
I called.
I ranted.
I threatened.
I made "mountains from mole hills".


He is a silent prince encased in brass and silver.
I place the items along side him,
his box of crayons,
the toy car he wanted but never received,
his little white bible,
and the picture of him hugging me.


And the last and most heart breaking of all,
the get well letters from his classmates,
who do not understand and,
In many ways I do not as well.

I am glad I was not there when they found him,
torn clothes,
triangular brands on his back,
cord around his neck,
face down in the toilet.

It is said by the Savior:
"It would be far better than for him in that
day of judgement,if a millstone were hanged
about his neck,and he were drowned in the
depths of the, sea than to offend one of these
little ones."

I have wrestled with this,
holding heavy metal in my hand.
It's weight far less than that of my
conscience,and of my aching heart.
Would that I could but,
"Vengence is mine sayeth the Lord".

Now I simply say that he might come today after all.
for I have seen him in the arms of the Savior,
and He is returning for all his children shortly.

Until then I wait for my lost lamb.


By:Kimarie Manhart-Freeman