Poetry

Broken Birds

May 8, 2015

One cannot witness

Pain and Remain

Unchanged.

We will choose.

To live. To love. To join.

To look away. To walk away.

To pretend.

We must choose.

Even silence is a choice.

Even blindness is a choice.

Even compassion is a choice.

Joining into suffering so foreign

In its nuance

Tenderly Beckoning

toward a

Commonness of hurt.

Humanity wrap’t in

Scar tissue.

This fragility of purpose

Knotted and woven

Into the warp and weft

Of another’s soul.

A fabric of hearts

Twisted and turned,

Shot thru with

Grace.

Silver and gold.

Have we given that which

Grants us a measure of

Comfort?

During weaknesses or

Indulgences or

The bitter coldnesses of

An empty hand

Once held.

Have we given?

Have we walked away.

Have we forgotten who we are?

Broken Birds who still

Try to

Fly.

We still try.Broken Birds 2

 

This was written on the 8th of May, 2015.  On the 70th anniversary of the end of WWII. In Germany.  Somehow, that makes it so much more meaningful to me.