The Power Filled Ounces
What
is the true measure of kindness?
I’ve
heard an ounce used
In
our blindness we attempt to weight it
How
can you give heaviness to something that lifts burdens?
Quantify
the quality that is unmeasured?
We
cannot buy forgiveness nor the mercy handed
In
the hand slipped into a frightened child’s
The
tears wiped by the one who discovers the long abandoned
Why
not a pound or a ton or a mega millions for measure?
There
is nothing that can compare
It
is so very rare
True
kindness moves
Stone
hearts
Unmovable
mountains
And
fills up deep pits
Where
we have thrown hope to it’s death
Kindness
is the ladder up
To
the fresh air
Blue
sky
Sunshine
In
an endless field
That
wakes us to possibility
On
the distant and distinct horizon
Fixing
our eye
On
love waiting there
Night Sediment
Settling
in at night
I
fear the fight
Within
the walls
Pasted
up like stalls
Segmenting
my thoughts
My
binges and boughts
Where
I trot out that list
That
in the morning fades like mist
The
“oughts”, “caughts”, and “nots”
Zeroing
in on that spot
Of
self-doubt and pity
That
isn’t at all pretty
It
sings me to sleep
with
a weary song
that
makes me weep
And
I feel so wrong
Living
the way I do
Defending
the few
habits
or practices
that
I cling to
Knowing
that I “could”, “would”, and “should”
but
I don’t
I
probably won’t
But
I check off those same boxes
Digging
in my pockets
Cataloging
it all again
To
my imaginary friend
That
stays up with me
To
twist my “chi”
Into
knots
Tomorrow
I will unlock
That
box
And
throw away the key
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