Bethesda

For thirty-eight years I was laid waiting,
Thirty-eight years in this misery lain,
Thirty-eight years of hope left abating,
So I sink alone in my sea of pain.
I have no friends or family to aid,
I crawl to the pool too slowly, failing
To reach healing, and so my life shall fade,
An old joke of Bethesda flailing.
Do I want to be made well? Asks some man,
Of course I do, if wanting made it so
I would be well; he acts as if he can
Make it, tells me to move and off I go.
Rolling up my mat I begin to walk
As others gather, too amazed to talk.

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