Today,
I am reflective,
On how we make assumptions,
About others.
How easy it is,
To hate,
From a distance.
How hard it is,
To hate,
Up close.
How do we nurture compassion,
In such a broken world?
It seems like the ground is too dry,
Cracked,
Infertile.
Nothing grows in these conditions.
How do we learn,
To hold each other gently?
Careful,
Not to bend,
Or break,
The tender new growth.
Is there a way,
To compost,
All the fear,
All the anger,
All the destruction?
Break it down,
And use the remains,
To make the ground soft again.
It is uncomfortable work,
Digging,
With bare hands.
Sifting sharp rocks,
Adding the compost we have made,
From things,
That no longer serve us.
Lovingly,
Folding in seeds,
For plants,
We may never see.
Grow,
Because we know,
That every bud,
Every leaf,
Every flower,
Is grace,
And compassion,
And peace,
In someone’s tiny corner,
Of broken earth.