Help
At the slightest cry, we rush to give,
But what of those whose pain won’t live
In vocal words or audible plea?
Will you help the one who hides silently?
Signs appear—subtle, yet clear—
Yet they resist, refuse to hear.
Why deny the aid they need?
What binds the heart that won’t concede?
Aching deep, worn thin by strain,
Fighting fatigue, yet masking pain,
In stubborn denial they remain.
Why veil the truth in mystery’s shroud?
Health is wealth, as voices loud,
But what is gained by suffering alone,
In shadows where no light has shone?
They say death is the ailment without cure,
Others claim silence seals our future.
Pray tell, what ails? Speak, receive—
Help is the gift we all conceive.
Help is not a sign of weakness,
Nor a chain that binds or presses.
Seeking and accepting aid,
Is the human strength displayed.
Cast away your doubts of care,
You are loved beyond compare.
Family and friends stand near,
With open hearts and arms sincere.
Though faith and spirit guide the way,
Healing is not theirs to sway.
Not begrudging sacred trust—
Help may come through acts of just.
Open up, calm your mind,
Trust and share, and you will find
Joy expands beyond oneself,
For God sends helpers as His wealth.
Copyright © Isaac Tsoho | Year Posted 2025
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