Compassion

She lies there covered in seething scars that vein red and cracked across her back. Gnarled and weathered with an unyielding defiance, she snarls away all preached pity and in her hand a bloodied whip is clutched tightly, red and cracked with fearful use. So who will stay for this wretched ugly who so tightly grasps her own remorse? And who will look to self and see ignorance that gives such red burning to bear?

Perhaps one day a person will dare to have such scars crossed on their backs as they approach to gently take her weeping burden away. And this person might just see a memory of an innocent hand that strongly trusted before strongly betrayed and finally left to fend alone with broken heart sought that nearest bloodied whip to wield.

So who will bear the tortured soul and stride forward amid a rain of blows and bear a red veined back themselves to uncover what once was so harshly trampled?

A Tumbling God

At first I only see the differences between you and me,
and find myself asking how we are similar,
which leads me to finally admit that we are not,
and leaves me only with the question "why?"
And when I dare to ask myself why you and I are different,
the only answer I find
is Love.



I have learned that how is simply a method, and why is a reason.