Compassion as a Practice

Photograph by Kai Langford-Do

Giving as a witness
always made me feel jealous
I did not partake in any malice,
but I deeply regret
the resentment I felt
when giving up something I cherished
I often expected that your trusted love
would never cease nor perish.

I gave only what increased my visibility,
but now that I am grown,
I’ve learned to give unconditionally
and split the you from the me
though I once graced your eyes,
I no longer yearn to be seen.

I’ll be no where near the clouds,
no end in sight,
no ladder to heaven,
no desperation for night.

I do not clamour for death,
that sweet release,
where I could easily forget
all those who I have left.

I face the consequences of my actions
and look to reconstruct
that which I terrorised
and turned to muck.

I despised those close to me
I despised them privately
I cannot unspeak hidden emotions,
I cannot stop hearing myself
even when embracing
all worldly commotion.

Only with the act
can I press forward:
No hesitation or judgment,
The Act:
the drop of a boulder in a lake,
the flour in a cake,
the leaves in your tea,
the words you gave to me -
this ultimate letting go,
the end of the struggle
and fear of loosing
that which you cannot hold.

I embrace the gravity
I accept what cannot be taken back
and only in surrender,
do I see:
there is no love in which I lack.



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