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.
The 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 pooling 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,
held 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 the new
but what will penetrate the newborn?
New eyes can only see
from inside their great creation,
they haven't quite looked out yet.

Perhaps, flocks of white expectation could cleanse our minds.
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 the pain
and take on the whole room, softly...
One by one, we wait.

Then suddenly the room shifts, vibrates 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.

The time has come, Lady Compassion comes in from the storm under
yellow sparked umbrella
and dew a glow, in cheeks of rose.
A luminous walk
across the praise and prayers
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
the pastel sand flowers on the floor.
One by one, as we kneel
at Her foot and foundation
crying out for peace - within.
One by one,
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
Poems from Passion
- Lady Compassion Waits, ©6.14.2017