this poem

this poem
does not offer you compassion,
nor will you find empathy
or understanding.

this poem
will not provide you with solace,
nor safe haven in the storm;
and it refuses an offering of grace
to bestow upon your weary head.

no,
this poem
cannot give you anything you desire;
will not supply anything you need.

this poem
presents to you one thing –

a blade of grass
stretched in lithe and dancer-like composure
toward the ever-giving sun
that warms and feeds it as it passes
through the turquoise skies
from the gates of dawn to dusk.

this poem
suggest you consider
the beauty of otherness outside of yourself
in this scimitar that would uproot
and glide to the heavens above,
if only the loving earth
would let it go.

this is all
this poem
can offer,
nothing more.

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