It was in their tone.
But more so in their eyes.
And then gushed out in their words.
The eyes, though, were screaming louder.
To think you almost missed it all.
The terror of their entrapment.
Your willingness to ensnare yourself.
Yet, Love spoke with the loudest embrace.
Choose to heal.
Mend the wounds.
Help others with their trauma.
It’s your only occupation.
I know the arc of all this
Has to be hope,
Breathing in a slipping sun,
Casting my mindful pains aside,
To mourn for,
Those who deeply mourn.
Tell your story, don’t tell someone else’s.
Don’t believe a story someone else gave you about yourself.
Live your story fully.
Why do we wander towards different places,
Looking to cure familiarity by creating new sets of same-old?
Can we dig deep into the present, the current,
Enough to satisfy the wayward heart?
I believe we can look into the eyes of others
In different places which stir us,
And we can find not only what we want to change
But how we can rest within everything we already have.