Closed the door, turned off the tap,
Poured away any signs of resentment.
Yet the knocking continued,
Each day they are waiting
The kindly sort, they make you laugh,
Long before the crying ever begins
Alluring, excitement, an enticing chant
Beckons our inner strength
Any consequential fear,
Those are the weak-minded
Traits of the shallow cropping.
Compassion has idols.
Would that the world be forgiven
For belief in resilience,
An altered state of unity.
Seems our lives are destined
Either to succeed or fall into desperate
Hollows of anxious burden.
There in the shadows they ready themselves.