Amidst the fertile loam of teenage angst, the battling suffragist,
Passion rages, tears cried in vain,

And budding futures bright, begin to fill the pages,
But feelings never felt in wholeness, become habit to the thorn,
A tender heart beguiled and blamed, brings bitterness and scorn.

They wander down the road where other travelers pass them by,
Without a word, no stories heard, of when or where, or why,
The fragments of what could have been are hardly ever seen,
Tied in knots, the path is charted, the soul in silence keens.

The years they pass with savage blunder, utter wrecklessness,
With hollow heart and acrid thoughts ensued, no niche to rest,
A pocket full of wonder that cannot afford to dream,
A misdirected vessel cursed with the odds it will careen.

But if by chance a passer-by is sensitive to light,
The splintered pieces of a soul like this could shine, despite,
One second of compassion can determine years to come,
One smile can start a caring flame,

Reviving some old pleasantries and bringing back

A blithesome nature to a life derailed by rejection.

Practice kindness all your life, don't underestimate,
Be not stingy with your heart, or you'll reap second rate,
You'll reap what you sow and get back as you give,
And just how much means little when you've inspired a life to live.



Copyright 2013 ©

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem about some of what authentic kindness and compassion can do.

Desperation's Door

I’m the bold brazen one with that cunning young eye,

And I walk with a strut as I shuffle on by,

I was cursed on at birth by the woman I knew as "my mother",

They say she belonged in a zoo.

At the ripe age of 4 there were things to explore,

But with burns on my hands I just heeled at commands.

When I finally turned 8, and thought, "It’s not too late,

I may still win this fight"….but then down came the night.

And by 14 years old, I did what I was told,

Lived a full life of crime that led to my hard time.

Running game on this yard isn’t really so hard,

I get three meals a day, no one gets in my way,

And I don’t have to pay for a friend like I did to get

My Dad’s attention when I was a kid.

Now I know that my life may seem lonely to some,

But if I was out there you’d see me as a bum.

You’d belittle and glare at my "pitiful" ways,

‘Cause you think you’re above falling into this maze.

But if only you knew of how you look to me,

Yes, if only you knew what these "pitied" eyes see,

They see hardly a face, with an aura of shame,

They see bitterness, anger, resentment and blame.

They see hands of a thief, with the heart of a snake,

And that thing you call "love", so damn phony and fake.

‘Cause love isn’t my clothes or your senseless false pride,

No, it’s far more than that, it comes deep from inside.

It’s the reason why when you see me that you hide.

Your love’s buried in fear, and the light can’t shine through,

It gets stifled and smothered and taken from you.

But if one little step brought us closer to see,

How I’m so much like you, and you’re so much like me,

Then I’d sure make a deal to meet you at half’s way,

If you think maybe we could forget for one day,

About all of the things that keep us far apart,

And perhaps we could actually make a new start.

I could learn how to live, you could learn how to love,

And the chains would break free, we’d fly high like a dove,

And I know we’d give thanks to that Power above,

And rejoice in the ways human kindness can be,

When acknowledged in everyone’s eye that we see…

….then my eyes open WIDE, as my cell door they close….


….guess it all was a dream…there’s no hope…I ‘spose.

Copyright © 2002 Liz Peterson-Braveheart

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