Kindheartedness of Mine
is often hidden,
because the kind heart,
is sometimes fragile.
It does not roar
like the lion,
It is the Song
of a sweet sounding bird.
This powerful gift
habitats among the innocent of spirit.
It is a gentle voice
that stirs when the breezes turn to wind.
Winds that ripple the waters
of the spirit.
That inner voice
rebels with a tender pause,
a softened eye,
that sees beyond the obvious,
into a soul that has a longing.
What stirs this benevolent force,
that so often is invisible to the naked eye.
Is it only love,
or has time and wisdom shaped its power
with trials and lessons that have pinched the heart?
Or is it a gift one is born with,
but from where would that gift have come
since it preys on being formed by deeds and yearning.
Could it be, it comes from having been shown…
By a master of kindheartedness,
a matriarch of love and wisdom?
A tender of the soul’s garden,
one seed at a time
Watched, watered, fertilized
by the gentle hand
pulling the weeds
to allow the light
to force the bloom