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Thomas Watson

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Here Am I; Send Me
by Thomas Watson
Friday, August 11, 2006
Rated "PG" by the Author.
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Recent poems by Thomas Watson
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           >> View all 55

Isaiah 6:8 8Also I heard the voice of the Lord, saying, Whom shall I send, and who will go for us? Then said I, Here am I; send me.







“Here am I; send me”



The flies kiss each child’s lips,

Searching for food bits;

Kissing, and kissing but always unsatisfied…

Even moisture from the eyes are denied…

Weary hands unable to brush the tickling aside;

“Help me” weak mouths move but swollen tongues hide…


“Who should I send to lend a hand? Who will it be?”

Then said I, “Here am I; send me”


Disease abundant, hope lost in the dust;

Stomachs extended, falling to the lightest gust;

Eyes running over the crust of previous flows.

Fly droppings and dust encase each nose.

Whether old or young, sunken eyes see

Only the next minute, that, with hope it might be…


“Who should I send to lend a hand? Who will it be?”

Then said I, “Here am I; send me”


Fear grabs and ties stomachs into knots.

Each manmade crater holds something that rots.

Shelters of stone and mud and gaping holes

Are no help where bombs are wrapped up in souls;

Justice cries out for those long dead

Resting where the innocent are pulled and led…


“Who should I send to lend a hand? Who will it be?”

Then said I, “Here am I; send me”


In the doorway, shopping cart half filled, caked with years and dirt

Hides the man, in hand me down scarves and shirts.

Too poor to remember its meaning, tries to lean from the cold,

Breathing the stale air of urine and sweat, quickly grows old;

Exhaust of cars linger in his tired lungs

Pride maintains his cries silent too long…


“Who should I send to lend a hand? Who will it be?”

Then said I, “Here am I; send me”


Where are your brother’s keepers?

Must one be appointed before you fall any deeper?

God asks of each heart, each soul, each witness,

“Who should I send to lend a hand, to clean this mess?”

Silence reigns in the noise filled world.

And then the question “Who will it be?” is hurled…


Touched by the feeble hand motioning to starving lips;

Moved to tears with the vision of the sick in a place ill equipped;

Shamed by the violence of vengeance upon the innocent;

Heartbroken by the sight of those neglected, passed without comment,

How can anyone not look up, raising their hand so He can see,

And speak through compassion, saying “Here am I; send me.”







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Reviewed by Frances Seymour 1/23/2009
Beautifully written--my sentiments exactly. Here I am Lord, send me!
Reviewed by Birgit and Roger Pratcher 8/12/2006
Dear Tom,
A deeply touching poem, drawing emotions in each line, wonderful done!
Love and Peace, B&R

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