Each Heart

To the suffering,

those upon whom fear and loneliness prey

and yet are under the constant care 

of God and His people;

A cruel dichotomy - where the loneliest 

hold the coveted place of attention and compassion

in the thoughts of many

and are the object of many prayers...

yet feel nothing of this love

and know nothing but loneliness.

To the well,

those within whom power and presence of mind dwell,

who live under the constant care of God;

a difficult place to be because,

though not immune to pain,

they still see its effects

and live in its sick domain,

yet they receive little thought or attention

for they themselves are the people of health,

they are the objects of envy of all those paralyzed by pain.

But are there just the whole and the broken?

The healthy and the sick?

Are there only those in pain and those out of it?

Or is it all a mixture - 

Sickness touching the healthy,

health touching the sick;

wholeness in the midst of the broken,

brokenness within the whole;

and pain weaving in and out of both beauty and ashes - 

Is suffering, then, a state in which we are either in or out?

Or is it perhaps merely part of the mixture of this air we breathe,

the mixture made by this fallen world?

Who can then judge between hurts?

Who can deem one hurt more real than another?

Does not each heart know its own bitterness?

The End

35 comments about this poem Feed