Abram Ezra Price was born and went to be with the Lord June 14, 2018.

Check back often for reflections on Abram’s life.

A Poem

Poetry, in its many forms, is an important facet of human expression.  Poetry communicates so much with so little and often evokes emotion in a way that prose simply can't.  When I was in my early to mid teen years, I wrote a lot of poetry.  Most of it wasn't any good, but it helped me express myself with freeing flexibility.  I didn't have to worry about getting everything perfect.  It was just about getting it out.

So the other day I thought I'd give it a try again after many years.  I admit that this isn't polished at all, and it's written with the intent of being a "spoken word" piece, but it's the only thing I've felt like writing lately.  It's a little rambling and scattered, and I didn't pay any attention to rhyme scheme.  But it felt good to write it, and it felt even better to mentally recite it.  When I have some time, I'll probably break it down to explain what each section is meant to convey.  I may even record an audio reading of it so the flow is more evident.  This, like a lot of poetry, is more about the writer than the reader.

 

A surprise, a hope
Not ready but ready now
Anxious excitement
Overflowing joy
Girl or boy, God’s glory magnified

A surprise, a fear
What could this be?
What could this mean?
Take everything if you must
But I’ll trust you just the same

Girl or boy?
Test results bring the news
Of an anomaly, but finally we know
It's a boy, bitter joy
Abram Ezra is his name

Wretched chromosomes
Touched by sin
When will it end?
In Christ,
Death dies.

Days and weeks
Months go by
Ups and downs
And hopes deferred
I cling to the Word

A few days away
No way to know
But every hair numbered
Knit together, no mistakes
The Lord is good

Breaking forth
Our son has come
Overcome with emotion
“Abram, Abram”
On my lips

Shallow breaths, struggling
No crying
Heartbeat slow
Getting slower
God, you are good

I cry out
To the Father about
My own son
Pleading and praise
On my lips

Then he slips away
Sixty minus eight
Minutes of life
But a life lived fully
Surrounded by love

And he,
Heart not beating,
Spirit not retreating,
Receives the crown of life
As Christ the King receives my son

No surprise
Wet or dry eyes
My God is Faithful
And able
His glory is magnified

 

Weak Words

Perhaps