We all have the same envelope.
Our bodies are different, but they look the same.
Bodies are worthless.
They mean nothing.
The way the soul carries the body is infinitely more important.
People carry themselves a certain way
It is their tell
People carry different hurts in life
You can never know how a person has been wounded
What type of weapon was used
Where it struck
How long it took to heal
If it sealed itself shut
If it is still sore from the blow
If the wound reopens from time to time when no one is watching
If any phantom pain rear its ugly head every now and then
You can never know
And for that reason
Always hold a person like the most precious stone.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 5:49 PM UTC
We all have the same envelope.
Our bodies are different, but they look the same.
Bodies are worthless.
They mean nothing.
The way the soul carries the body is infinitely more important.
People carry themselves a certain way
It is their tell
People carry different hurts in life
You can never know how a person has been wounded
What type of weapon was used
Where it struck
How long it took to heal
If it sealed itself shut
If it is still sore from the blow
If the wound reopens from time to time when no one is watching
If any phantom pain rear its ugly head every now and then
You can never know
And for that reason
Always hold a person like the most precious stone.
Request permission to use this poem