the spirit

he lays there day after day

his only view

a clear plastic bag full of 

liquid

and dull redundant tiles that

are fastened to the ceiling.

His name means 

masculine

and he can't even wipe

himself.

There are holes eating their way

through his bones

and muscles that lay there dormant

refusing to come back to life

Battle after battle

have left him wounded and weary

so many defeats that he has grown use

to the color of blood.

But inside his tattered soul

there remains a 

quiet flame

no bigger than a birthday candle

and it has not blown out.

The Holy Spirit dwells

within him

where light is present

and utter darkness cannot choke.

His sweet wife, so proud and fierce

still stands beside him

she will never abandon her post.

She rounds up his offspring, 

more than caring and tending to them.

She also, 

is not without her 

own wounds.

the wife of a fallen soldier,

she is a mother with arms that ache

for a tiny flower she once held,

but her flame also remains. 

Who can explain it?

Yet they are desperate for Him, 

the Father of Light, 

eager to be warmed

by His

 Holy flame. 

It is evident to see in this family that 

God is truly close

to the broken in spirit

and it also clear through the 

window of this family

that 'blessed are the poor in spirit,

for they shall see God'.

Amidst the tatter and disaray,

amidst the anger, hurt, and increasing pain,

there is joy in the Father,

assurance of His eternal promise, 

more so than I've seen in some of the healthy.