The Question part four

My apologies for not posting this yesterday. Here's part three, in case you need a refresher.

Part Four

Rushing,

The crowds of townsfolk

Bustle around me.

Housewives

Doing their morning shopping.

Peddlers

Hawking their wares.

Young women

Giggling and gossiping.

All these

And more

Fill the crowded marketplace.

I slip,

Unnoticed,

Between shoppers and stalls.

I listen to every word they say.

One name

Is on everyone’s lips,

The name of the one

Who I have followed.

“The Prince!”

They say,

“The one who calls Himself

Son of the Great King!”

Matronly women

Talk knowingly with their friends

About Him.

“I heard

He raised a girl from the dead,”

Says one.

“My cousin told me

That He gave sight to a girl blind from birth!”

Exclaims another.

“My husband says

That He knows more about the Great King than anyone,

Even the Elders!”

Another whispers.

Speculations fly
About who He is.

“He is the one we have heard of,

The one who says a Deliverer is coming!”

“He is one of the heroes of old,

Come back to lead us!”

“He is a prophet,

Sent with a message from the Great King!”

Everyone seems to have an opinion

But I do not think

That anyone truly knows for sure.

I leave the city,

Running out the gates

And back to the place

Where our group stopped

While I went on ahead

To find out what the townspeople say

About our leader.

I approach Him respectfully.

He turns to me.

“You have returned.

What have you learned?”

I tell Him what I heard.

“Some say

You are the One who proclaims a Deliverer is coming.

Others say

You are a hero of old

Or a prophet.”

He nods slowly.

“And you, Teresa,

Who do you say I am?”
I hesitate.

I have pondered the question

Many times

Despite having followed Him

This long.

Who is He?

Who am I following?

I feel as if every eye in the group

Is on me.

Who is He?

Who am I following?

I look up,

Into His eyes,

And I realize

I knew all along

But I would not admit it.

“You are,”

I begin.

“You are

The Prince of Peace,

Son of the Great King.”

The Prince of Peace smiles.

The Question Part Three

Hello, everyone! I'm back, with part three of The Question. Here's part two in case you haven't read it yet. Enjoy!

Part Three

Weary,

We are all eager

For a rest.

The heat

And long days of travel

Have taken their toll on us.

Whispers run up and down the crowd.

“We approach a town,”

They say,

“Perhaps we will stop.”

I hope they are right.

We reach the gate

As the evening watchmen

Take their place.

As we walk down the main street,

I look around.

The town is quiet,

Somber,

Far more so than it should be.

I wonder what has happened

To bring on this gloom.

As the townspeople see

Our leader,

The One who calls Himself

The Prince of Peace,

Son of the Great King,

A whispering cry goes up.

A man,

Dressed in the black clothes

Of mourning,

Steps towards Him.

“Please, lord,”

He says,

Hopefully,

“Please lord,

My daughter has died today,

But

I have heard of Your works.

If You come

And touch her,

She will live.”

I wonder,

Not for the first time,

At the faith people display that

Our leader

Can heal them,

Though I have never seen Him bring anyone

Back from the dead.

I know, though,

That He rewards those who have faith.

Sure enough,

He speaks.

“Lead Me to your daughter.”

The man turns

And we follow.

As we reach the man’s house

We hear loud crying

And wailing.

Our leader goes inside.

Most stay behind

But

I slip after Him,

Curious.

I follow Him

To the dead girl’s bedroom.

The girl’s mother sits,

Weeping,

By the bed.

Our leader speaks gently to her.

“Weep no more,”

He says,

“She is not dead,

Only asleep.”

The woman looks up,

Surprised.

Our leader takes the hand

Of the dead girl.

“Come,”

He says,

“The night is over.

It is time for you to get up.”

I watch,

Amazed,

As she opens her eyes

And sits up.

The girl’s mother

Throws her arms around her daughter,

Tears of joy

Flowing from her eyes.

The man bows

And thanks our leader.

I stare at Him,

Wondering.

Who is He

To give sight to the blind?

Who is He

To raise a child from the dead?

Could He truly be

The Prince of Peace,

Son of the Great King?

I stare

And wonder,

Not for the last time,

Who He truly is.

Though,

Somehow,

I almost think

I already know the answer.

The Question part two

Hello, everyone! I'm back with the second part of The Question! Here's part one in case you haven't read it yet.

Part Two

Walking.

We have been traveling for weeks,

Following the One

Who calls Himself

The Prince of Peace,

Son of the Great King.

Many have joined us.

Some wait for Him

To overthrow those

Who would oppress us.

Some are simply curious,

Wondering who He is.

And some believe that

He is the Prince of Peace.

I follow because

He called

And I could not say no.

One day,

Hot and dusty like all midsummer,

I see ahead of us

Two girls,

Both younger than my own fifteen years.

One guides the other,

Who stares off with

Eyes that seem not to see.

Their ragged dresses

Hang loose on their gaunt frames.

As they draw closer, I see

That one walks with a limp.

Now I know who they are.

Beggars,

A blind girl

And a cripple.

The blind girl walks humbly,

Guided by the cripple,

But seeming to listen for something.

The cripple steps

Almost proudly

Despite her infirmity.

They are those

Who exist solely on the charity of others.

A blind girl and a cripple,

Beggars,

Useless.

They should be hiding like I once hid,

Though I am not like them.

I hid because

I loved to be alone.

They would hide

Because they would have little choice.

Yet they do not hide.

They continue towards us.

I look at our leader.

Surely

He will not stop,

Not for these,

A blind girl and a cripple!

But

He stops

As they draw near.

They stop too,

The cripple glancing up,

Half in fear,

Half in scorn.

The blind girl still stares,

Sightless,

Her eyes blank.

Our leader speaks gently.

“What do you want Me to do for you?”

The cripple remains silent

But the blind girl

Turns towards His voice.

“Please, sir,”

She asks,

Her voice hopeful.

“Please sir, I believe You can give me my sight.”

A man next to me whispers

“I knew that girl in my old village.

She is blind,

Blind from birth.”

I stare at the blind girl.

She has never seen,

Yet she asks for sight?

I have heard that

Before I joined Him,

Our leader healed the blind,

The sick,

The crippled,

But I believed them to be only rumors.

How can she hope

To have her request granted?

Our leader speaks,

Smiling.

“Then see, daughter, for

Your faith

Has healed you.”

A smile spreads across the face of the girl,

Once blind,

As she looks around,

Seeing for the first time.

I wonder,

Not for the last time,

Who is this man

Who I am following?

This healer,

This miracle worker?

Is He a great teacher,

A prophet,

Like some people say?

Or is He who He says He is,

The Prince of Peace,

Son of the Great King?

I look ahead

And see the cripple walking away,

Scornful of what our leader

Might do for her.

The once-blind girl,

Kneels before our leader,

Joyfully thanking Him,

And then she joins our group.

The whispers fly.

“The cripple,

The blind girl’s sister,

Refused healing.

She came only for her sister’s sake,

Now she is leaving.”

I watch her go

And wonder,

Not for the last time,

What she truly has refused.

What do you think? I'd love it if you'd comment and tell me! Thanks for reading!

-Sarah

The Question Part One

Hello, everyone! I'm here with the first part of The Question, a story in poem form. This is from my Tales of the Great King series, and it takes place in the years just before The Sacrifice. As a note, this is written in the free verse style of poetry, which doesn't have to rhyme. With that, enjoy!

Part One

Hiding.

Alone.

Here, in my forest,

I stay.

Alone.

Wandering,

Walking,

Silent as the breeze,

Always on the move.

One day

He sees me

And I see him.

I freeze,

Poised to flee

But I do not run.

Not yet.

Something about him

Keeps me here,

Seems to call my name.

“Teresa,

Teresa,”

He somehow seems to whisper,

Tugging at me to come.

I stare at him,

Frightened,

And yet not afraid.

Finally, I speak.

“Who are you?”

He answers,

“I am

The Prince of Peace,

Son of the Great King.”

I stare,

Trembling,

Wondering,

Who is this man to make such a claim?

Who is He to say

He is the Son of the Great King?

It cannot be possible

And yet, somehow,

I almost believe Him.

I look,

Fearfully,

Into His eyes,

And I find

Love,

Kindness,

And strength reflected there.

He speaks again

And His voice

Tugs at me,

Pulls at my heart.

“Come,”

He says,

“Follow Me.”

He turns to go.

I hesitate.

“Come,

Follow Me,”

He has said.

I am afraid.

I do not want to leave my hiding place,

My safe forest,

But

He has called me.

“Come,

Follow me.”

And so

I follow.

What do you think? I hope you like it! Thanks for reading!

-Sarah