Noah

September 21st, 2019


A cry leaps out of tiny lungs, 

like a joy-song from a womb that

wore scarlet pain and crimson groans.


On this morning,

the instruments of a doctor’s skillful hands,


an orchestra of

machine melodies,


a father and mother’s hearts, pulled,


produced a symphony in the night,


an opus for a masterpiece from the Master’s hands: Noah Gabriel Richard.


Yet in God’s wisdom,

it was determined that he would be

a different song.


We would soon hear tragedy amid a composition of hope.


We would see God’s pen

mark our pages with

shrouded letters,


letters that spoke of pain,

letters that plummeted to depths only the suffering could reach.


October 2nd, 2019


My feet urge empty hands to go

back and hold young Noah. 


But his eyes rested that late afternoon,

his tiny chest rising and falling in the Chevy parked

under a teal Los Angeles sky.


The air was clear, and hearts were bright.

For Noah broke a string of family heartbreaks

that lay scattered across memory lane.


At times, he smiled in his sleep. His family

smiled awake. This was Noah’s song.



October 16th, 2019


God writes stories we cannot read. This story threaded providence with tears.


And that day, Morning took on

another name: Night.


We sat in the emergency room and

listened to Doctor Peck, who carried

words the strongest of 

hearts could not hold:

Noah has died.


We were assured staff tried and tried,

the room packed as hands

grasped to pull Noah back into life.


But our song

faded into silence.


Or so we thought.


We heard hope from a

distant throne,

where angels surround the Lord, Who dwells in unapproachable light,

as heavenly beings cry, Holy, holy, holy.


And here, on this distant Earth, our hearts sing a song of praise.


We sing of heaven, where

Noah now lives,

a song that tells

of sin-stained garments removed.


We sing of rescue from troubles

Noah would have doubtless had.


We sing of salvation from suffering

every sojourner must pass.


We sing a melody of small, delicate hands that reached far.


Yes, we sing a song that tells us of the beauty of God’s majestic, 

brilliant glory,

in a heaven where sorrow isn’t known and the mist of pain will never rise.


Yes, we hear a song that 

says, if we believe in Christ and repent,

we will savor a nectar-song

that tells us we 

will see Noah again.

 

Read Other Poems

 

Follow

  • Instagram

All poems on this website are written by Samuel Richard. They cannot be modified, copied or sold in any way. Prohibited uses include editing or reprinting the poems on this site, and any other change or use, with a few exceptions:


Poems can only be read on this website, shared through social media, emailed, shared via mobile device, or shared through podcast platforms. All drawings were created by Penny Seechooratana.

© 2020 by The Christian Poet. Created by Wix.com.