Our group meeting, a chance to debrief,
a chance to chant slogans and share core belief.
We cry, “We’re one!” but quietly brood,
Each schism is wrapped up in tight solitude.
Our minds are a chorus but our hearts are askew,
United in name, but divided in view.
We strengthen our voices, but fewer will hear,
The closer we stand, the more we strike fear.
Why not a spark—a more gentle grace,
more thoughtful of others, more softer of face.
Our group, once splintered, could find repair,
Not as a tribe, but through bonds of care.
Groups may stumble, but our hearts still align,
Through trials we polish, like stone into shine.
Our group can live through this, together with pride
Our fellowship mended, holds stronger inside
Poetry-on-the-mind
Weekly prompt 12: Group
Groups embody all the strengths and fragility of every human connection.
