Tuesday, September 16, 2014

The Ten Thousand Things

Oh, Lord, we tire
of chronicity,
the same old,
same old, our ten
thousand terrors. 
But ten thousand
await us in the shadows
of fear, which are
light in disguise,
awaiting our hands
to wring
inevitable love
from the stones
we have piled
around our ten thousand
failures to love.
We learn again
the chronicity
of compassion,
the shock of our will
to care again,
to soften our hands
away from the stones, 
to reach for the faces
begging for light,
the first
being our own,
for a dusting
of mercy, for the alms
of tendresse
to spill 
from the boundless
bowls of our hearts.

(Art: "Metta" -- artist unknown)

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