LADY COMPASSION WAITS
The day was rainy,
sweeping through streets of wood
like the Gods themselves wanted
to wash away the signs and lines
of life, as we knew it-
And all I could do, was peer
through droplets lain flat
then dribble down windshield
like glazed over wishes,
tossed aside by fate-
It was almost eleven o'clock.
streets were soaked with hope.
transforming time,
to the beginning of dawn, where souls
were saturated in overwhelming need
and the faint hush of hearts,
fell across the land as we gathered
by the theater.
Mud pooled thick with sadness
pulling foot to pasture,
passing through the park.
I didn't want to soil my shoes
so, I stepped lightly among the masses
holding my struggles close
as not to scatter those seeds or lose them
wild to the wise and precocious wind-
One by one, we skipped over pastel flowers
born from the floor and carried into the halls
those heavy transgressions on humps,
stationed on our backs-
It was the kind of journey, where relief
was only felt from the top, a panoramic understanding
toward a gentle look back-
The truth is,
Everyone wants to be loved-
It's the emptiness, that wants
to be seen, to be heard, to be gifted
with a glimmer of self that hides
in and behind the ribs, the chamber
keeping the heart hidden, compiled and stowed
inside the Emerald Temple just waiting...
for the right moment to become-
You see, everyone wants the blessing
the shower that sheds the slate clean
We ALL want to start again-
So, we'll carry the load across state lines,
baring witness to the potential of sages,
we'll stand steadily at the mouth of mother,
waiting to be swallowed whole, enveloped in new
but what will penetrate the newborn?
New eyes, can only see from inside
their great creation, they haven't looked out yet-
Perhaps, flocks of white expectation
could cleanse our minds?
or maybe, standing on ceremony with praise
and adoration could conjure the healer?
She's standing right outside the door, you know
In the rain...
Maybe, her own kind of cleansing to make way,
before the crowd-
So, we wait...
because respect will open the door when it's ready-
We wait…
because her arrival is said to hold tight pain
and take on the whole room softly...
One by one, we wait.
Then suddenly the room shifts,
vibrating with the very things we carried in;
want to extricate, disentangle and leave behind.
To keep the mud outside thick and our souls light-
In time, she'll walk the pink path
to sit above the flowers, to hover
over heads of shame and with just a touch,
melt sorrow into rain-
Lady Compassion comes in from the storm
under yellow sparked umbrella
and dew aglow, on her cheeks of rose.
A luminous walk across prayers and praise
meant to lift her feet,
a humble celebration of grace and stature,
she rises;
She'll feed the hungry and house the forgotten.
She'll bathe the sick and educate the children.
She'll sit above the flowers
with hands on troubled heads,
circling warm tones across temples,
blessing one by one,
she waits-
One by one, as we pass
over the pastel flowers born from the floor.
One by one, as we kneel
at her foot and foundation,
crying out, for peace within.
One by one... she waits...
She waits, for you
to recognize yourself in Her ways.
Lady Compassion waits...
because respect,
will open the door when it's ready-
- J. Circosta, Tiny Poet
Lady Compassion Waits, ©6.14.2017, Poems from Passion
The day was rainy,
sweeping through streets of wood
like the Gods themselves wanted
to wash away the signs and lines
of life, as we knew it-
And all I could do, was peer
through droplets lain flat
then dribble down windshield
like glazed over wishes,
tossed aside by fate-
It was almost eleven o'clock.
streets were soaked with hope.
transforming time,
to the beginning of dawn, where souls
were saturated in overwhelming need
and the faint hush of hearts,
fell across the land as we gathered
by the theater.
Mud pooled thick with sadness
pulling foot to pasture,
passing through the park.
I didn't want to soil my shoes
so, I stepped lightly among the masses
holding my struggles close
as not to scatter those seeds or lose them
wild to the wise and precocious wind-
One by one, we skipped over pastel flowers
born from the floor and carried into the halls
those heavy transgressions on humps,
stationed on our backs-
It was the kind of journey, where relief
was only felt from the top, a panoramic understanding
toward a gentle look back-
The truth is,
Everyone wants to be loved-
It's the emptiness, that wants
to be seen, to be heard, to be gifted
with a glimmer of self that hides
in and behind the ribs, the chamber
keeping the heart hidden, compiled and stowed
inside the Emerald Temple just waiting...
for the right moment to become-
You see, everyone wants the blessing
the shower that sheds the slate clean
We ALL want to start again-
So, we'll carry the load across state lines,
baring witness to the potential of sages,
we'll stand steadily at the mouth of mother,
waiting to be swallowed whole, enveloped in new
but what will penetrate the newborn?
New eyes, can only see from inside
their great creation, they haven't looked out yet-
Perhaps, flocks of white expectation
could cleanse our minds?
or maybe, standing on ceremony with praise
and adoration could conjure the healer?
She's standing right outside the door, you know
In the rain...
Maybe, her own kind of cleansing to make way,
before the crowd-
So, we wait...
because respect will open the door when it's ready-
We wait…
because her arrival is said to hold tight pain
and take on the whole room softly...
One by one, we wait.
Then suddenly the room shifts,
vibrating with the very things we carried in;
want to extricate, disentangle and leave behind.
To keep the mud outside thick and our souls light-
In time, she'll walk the pink path
to sit above the flowers, to hover
over heads of shame and with just a touch,
melt sorrow into rain-
Lady Compassion comes in from the storm
under yellow sparked umbrella
and dew aglow, on her cheeks of rose.
A luminous walk across prayers and praise
meant to lift her feet,
a humble celebration of grace and stature,
she rises;
She'll feed the hungry and house the forgotten.
She'll bathe the sick and educate the children.
She'll sit above the flowers
with hands on troubled heads,
circling warm tones across temples,
blessing one by one,
she waits-
One by one, as we pass
over the pastel flowers born from the floor.
One by one, as we kneel
at her foot and foundation,
crying out, for peace within.
One by one... she waits...
She waits, for you
to recognize yourself in Her ways.
Lady Compassion waits...
because respect,
will open the door when it's ready-
- J. Circosta, Tiny Poet
Lady Compassion Waits, ©6.14.2017, Poems from Passion
