Without Pity, With Grace
I have stood beside the broken bread,
felt the ache of every soul that knelt.
Yet never once have I wept for my own hunger—
For Love fills what flesh forgets.
The sparrow falls, and I do not mourn;
It's a small death that teaches flight.
In the frost of another’s sorrow,
My hands remain warm with prayer.
To serve is to vanish quietly,
like incense into the light—
not out of loss,
but out of belonging.
O Lord, let me be the branch that bends,
never the heart that complains.
Pity is too small a cup
to hold the wine of grace.
And when my breath becomes the last amen,
I shall not say: I have suffered,
but only this:
I have loved, without self.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
