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 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 the 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-
- Tiny Poet, Lady Compassion, 6.14.2017
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 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 the 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-
- Tiny Poet, Lady Compassion, 6.14.2017