Poem of the present

Don’t envy me.
Don’t pity me.

Just pray if you will.


Reach out your heart.

Our aches are different.
I’m sure.
There’s no comparison
No competition

Together though we can allow
the pain we create with our mind
To pass through
As we acknowledge it
We let it go.

Intense suffering
of any kind
Can burn away
the false hopes we have,
The idols.

And be free.