If whenever we reach out to one another

really ask to be noticed,

without using words,

just the simple expression of our eyes,

cannot tears alone provide the answer,

will we only allow ourselves to feel compassion

at the heels of natural pain, long after the actions

of hurtful angst have knocked us off our feet.

Our pedestal

We live by sight,

in glamour, prestige, adorned in history,

that broach she wore just the other night,

could represent a Victorian amulet seen only by

the rarest eyes.

Those looks, those moments of judgment

we today might never know,

yet will still emulate to the best of our ability.

We could be a society of fakirs,

misrepresenting ourselves to feel like yesterday

has been brought back to life.

What if for a moment instead of finding the correct linens,

of knowing the proper stance,

of elocution and charming dialect,

what if we’d rather just be the person we are,

and stand before that moment without trying

to be what we are not and may not ever be.

What if just alone,

a compassionate human being

… if love we begin to share our ware.