I took a call today, from an older woman, from a church I used to attend...
Battle scared and bruised, but always on the mend...
With all the hocus pocus, who has gone astray?
Who's the one faithful, until they pass away?
No pride, or scorning: oozing love with ease...
Exalting the humble, bringing the proud to their knees..
The one bearing the scars, is a friend indeed.
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Author:
Valiantstar (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 14th, 2026 02:06
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 20
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments2
Nice word work in this short write about the virtue of bearing another's burden.
Ah, Valiantstar, isn't it remarkable how some of the most wounded people become the most compassionate? Meanwhile, others spend their entire lives preaching about love without ever quite figuring out how to practice it. Funny old world, isn't it? 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
It reminded me how he uses the foolish things to confound the wise.
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