Blessed Are Those Who Suffer

by Lynn Michael Martin

Blessed are those who suffer. For we’ve known
The tedious terrors of the world within.
We’ve hidden homelessness beneath our skin;
In crowds, we faced our specters all alone.

The hours we ache, our thresholds pale with pain,
Each jagged thorn of those who have endured,
Each bed of torment, racks us our reward.
Its purpose is our spite; its end our gain.

Glory to God; to you, O groaning man,
Be glory. For you fell beneath the stroke
Of all our sorrows. For you bore the yoke
Of all the weeping since the world began.

Blessed are those who suffer, Lord, with you,
Whose veins burned venom from a violent fiend,
Who tottered at the serpent’s strike, who leaned
On him who raised the dead, and found him true.

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Lynn Michael Martin is slowly learning that he is not the center of the world.

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Photography by Kenneth Godoy