A Kindness

So easily delivered the soft touch of a hand,
a smile so much less effort than a frown.
Soft words,
not the harsh barrage of criticism
delivered because you can.

 

Thinking your sharp wit amusing,
a knife which cuts deeper with each thrust.
What do we do other than acquiesce.
Ahh but one should never be kind or gentle.
This world is not for the gentle or kind, it is for others.

 

We remain
Radios to be tuned in.
To be switched off at the slightest suggestion of resistance,
waiting.. a life spent waiting for a kindness to be performed
a worm which turned no longer is required.
If we ask..why.. you would just say.. what about you.

 

How many doors were open to us, forks in the road to choose.
Those forks not our forks those roads not our roads,
we are passengers on somebody else's journey.
I am but one of many who travel these same paths.

Held fast by a sorrow not for ourselves but for you.
The cord by which we are attached,
the umbulicus from which you feed.

 

My passion never faltered it played its ryhtmic tune,
but yours my love a flame extinguished far too soon.
You are blind you do not see.
These words bleed.. from the open wound that is me.

 

© 2018 Taylor Crowshaw