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.
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.