Shunned At A Funeral - 10 The Wounded King

I stood where shadows bend
The road, where rumor ran like
Winter rain.
The healer's name was in the wind
Yet still
I whispered for his pain.
I'd seen his hands restore the blind, watch crippled limbs remember
Grace, yet something hard inside
My chest still begged
To see his broken face
I heard him speak beside the shore, words that stirred the sleeping sand.
5,000 fed by broken bread
That multiplied
In open hand, but envy