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 Mar 2017 Mona
Isha Natsu
Do not patronize me.
I am not looking for gazes full of wonder.
Or questions that do not rhyme.
Who is the artist?
The canvas is stretched to tearing.
My taut body holding on to the frame that encases me.
Maybe my colors are just not right.
The blues a little too bright.
The yellows a little too dull.
I am trapped in my own downfall.
I am looking at you from across the room, your eyes darting everywhere except here.
You are tinted with regret and encapsulated in your sadness.
And I have heard so many artists say that they need it for their art.
But what's the glory of art with so much heartbreak?
Your tears spilling and mixing into a palette of grey.
I will draw you to me just to be mistaken as divine.
Your hands will ignore the calls for caution telling you not to touch me.
That I will just ruin you is just another way of saying I will eventually love you.
Chaos is just another word, unrequited is just ten letters, but risk is all too close.
You will try to paint me another smile, to cover up for past mistakes.
And I will flake, revealing the ugly layers underneath.
This masterpiece was just another study.
Another shamble in the pile.
 Mar 2017 Mona
nivek
my spirit wakes from the night
climbs into its costume
all skin and bones
and my heart begins to beat
to the hours of the day
my eyes focus to the light
as I make my way
onto the stage
to the extraordinary world
of women and men.
 Mar 2017 Mona
SE Reimer
~


~==~
compassion
is   a   towering
tree,       its      roots
grow   deep,    for    that
space to  reach,  in  between
a    rock    and    hard  place.   to
find    its    nourishment    from   pain;
it’s     sustenance      in     life’s       pouring
rain.  for  its  seeds  lie  in  needs;   the  human
kind  of  suffering.  without  which  this  gift
would­  cease  to  exist.  a  grace  of  great
price;   a   pearl   of   bright   light.
well   - nurtured  it  spreads
it's  broad  arms,  to
swallow.   the
s o r r o w,
to  comfort
a   mother,
a   father,
a  son  or
a daughter,
to     give
hope    to
the  dark  of
their   night.
an ointment it brings
not just once or twice, but a
salve to soothe a breaking heart... for life!

~

*post script.

please, for one moment consider this... the human emotion of compassion does not, and cannot, exist without suffering!  compassion is in many ways like a mirror image of pain, and a man or woman with a well-developed gift of compassion knows it's great value is in its ability to enlarge our capacity for selflessness, for in sharing compassion we absorb another’s pain.  yet we must also remember that many kinds of pain are incurable and are destined to be borne for a lifetime.  therefore, equally important to that thought is this... compassion is not a “one-and-done” cure.  instead it is an ointment and salve that must be applied, as often as needed, even for a lifetime to those who we love.  and is not this the greatest pain reducer possible?  ( and what’s more, it also does serious damage to narcissism! imagine that... two for one! :). it is only then in this context that i say these words, "pain is the gift that awakens our compassion!"
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