I knew He was nearing,

I heard the people gossip.

I had to make my way towards Him,

He is more than a prophet.

Some call Him the chosen one, others call him Lord.

The thought of Him dices my despair like a sword.

If only I can make it through this hungry crowd,

I’ll only to touch Him, without making a sound.

I crawl past the sheep and the herds of people,

I felt so guilty; I traveled past the crippled.

Stretch out my frail hand,

I’m about to touch the King of Man.

Hold my breath and close my eyes.

He is He, the one many spoke of.

I hear His voice,

“Who has touched Me?’

My eyes up, my face bowed down.

“It was I Lord” I whispered from the ground.

He proclaimed “Your faith has made you well”

In that moment, the tears in my eyes began to swell.