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 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 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 penetrates
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 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 open's 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 kindness,
will open the door when you're ready-
- J. Circosta, Tiny Poet, 6.14.2017
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 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 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 penetrates
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 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 open's 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 kindness,
will open the door when you're ready-
- J. Circosta, Tiny Poet, 6.14.2017
