Poetry

The Bruised Reed

by Maria Franco
03/27/24
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The bruised reed
Stands slender and tall
Though broken inside out
It still exudes royalty.

The bruised reed
A royal sceptre of the house of David
The stem of Jesse spoken long ago.
His lineage from God unknown to those who derided him
A king crowned with thorns.

The bruised reed
Pierced for our iniquities.
Weakened by insults and blows
Still stood upright to gather us all.

The bruised reed
Reddened by its own blood
The bruises innumerable to count.
A reed that was drained of all vigour
A frailty that held to every ounce of strength.

The bruised reed
Isaiah’s prophecy of a date to come.
A reed that set its face like flint
And turned not away from its aggressors.

The bruised reed
Will not allow others to be bruised.
It will not smote a smouldering wick
But will lighten up the flickering ones.

The bruised reed
Held a palm not long ago in its hand.
A symbol of victorious triumph
Now the reed still speaks of a larger win.

The bruised reed
Is the most suffering of reeds.
It has a stalk of love that it carries within
A never drying stock of love for the universe
That will be carried forth however loved in return.

 Maria Franco