After she broke through the gates she said her prayers were trapped behind enemy lines. Her Fukishima tears crashed poisonous waves to foreign shores.

I knew how it felt to be thrown in a hole left with vipers.

They still hiss at me in nightmares except now I confront them, unafraid of their venom.

My first dream paddled me through a lush heavenly river, a beautiful angel rowed, I sat at the bow facing her.

She told me long stories I cannot remember. I never felt so safe as when I spent time with her.

Time spent in a fallen world made pure waters metamorphosis to chemical troubles.

My prayers joined all the others
and sailed the jail free sky of hope.

I left her memory in a place my voice cannot travel into. Or maybe it can.

I wonder if she knows her stories paddle through my veins struggling for remembrance.

They say empathy is a wounded healer, I wonder if they know I have felt them in the distance.

Cries so intense my sensitivity got scarred on a tree engraved with the whole world's initials.

Never the same again, I understand how consciousness is a wide forever river pressing closer to empathetic ocean.

I once tried to protect myself from everything by forgetting her elegant lotus petals. Spikes in my eyes taught me invaluable lessons.

Some say empathy is a weakness.

I know now that it leads to our strongest miracle.

Who are we without compassion?

A blinded monster killing everything.

Empathy is a wounded healer.

Forgive yourself and remember your lotus petals so you can help others open up their own gardens.

We can only hope they all remember.