God, deliver her to me,
For she is the only one
Who deserves my love and passion.
Her angelic descent to this earth,
A world that doesn’t deserve her beauty
Yet owes her everything,
Is why I long to see our souls intertwine.
The love I feel for her, God,
Is the same love you felt
Watching your Son baptized in the Jordan.
Just as the dove flew over Him, so does my heart.
I cannot find it in my heart to reject
The idea of her I have built.
Everything I’ve ever wanted,
She has granted with a touch.
Her graceful arms caress my coarse back;
Her slender figure flutters across my mind.
The way she tilts her head and smiles
Captures my gaze like no other woman can.
Her beauty doesn’t come without intelligence;
She is able to enlighten me to greater heights.
The truths I once struggled to bear,
She taught me with such tender mercy.
My Heavenly Father, she is Your creation.
I can see Your compassion through her.
She feeds the hungry and cares for the sick,
Loving children and the elderly as her own.
God, I implore You to let me
Love this woman of my dreams
As much as I love You.
You are a wild flower
Potted and constrained
You should be in a meadow
Where the sunlight is unstrained
The breeze should blow you gently
Not storms that rattle by
Those petals shouldn't curl and hide
Your beauty from the eye
I wish that I could carry you
And plant you where you'd be
That beautiful wild flower that
You were always meant to be
What was the price I paid for life?
None; it was given me.
The cost of spite and strife
Was great, but I in turn learned humility.
With age came wisdom and dignity,
The scepter of compassion,
The scales of honesty,
Where we need
Consider the frailty
Of those tender hearts
Fallen before me,
For there is always a price to pay
For living as what we say,
Be it by fault
Or be it by may.
“Man’s word is god in man”,
I once read an old King say.
You grew up in a terrifying house
Full of screams and violence
Your father beating you and his spouse
Until it brought submission and silence
I could sense it in you
I wanted to help you, it’s true
I know that inside you there’s a hurt child
A fragile boy that became hostile
But your childhood trauma turned you into him
You became what you swore you'd never be
Your bright light slowly grew dim
Revealing the monster you hid within thee
Even so, my compassion got the best of me
I gave up all of me to save thee
In exchange, you slowly drowned me
Draining my light and life
I didn’t know you were my enemy
The worst monster I’ve ever seen
old hands count the coins
quiet morning passes by
someone helps today
In this selfish world so cold,
A beacon of light guides the way -
Its compassion’s touch, a hand to hold,
And guide and brighten the day.
With gentle words and deeds of grace,
Compassion heals the wounds others bear.
It sees beyond the mask upon the face,
Showing that someone truly does care!
In empathy and kindness, one will find,
A bond that connects us heart to heart -
Lifting us up with words so kind,
Helping us to navigate life’s art!
Oh, compassion is a gift so fond and true,
A gentle soothing light that sees us through!
Copyright © 2019 by Crystal David John
(Published in my book titled 'Trails of Thought,' which is available on Amazon)
Then if, after my death,
The world is still as cruel,
Stand on my grave with two feet,
And if a flower were to grow,
Next to my stone,
Step one foot out,
And look upon your peers,
And if you see sadness,
Take the flower from my grave,
And bring it to a stranger,
And if you bring upon that stranger, happiness,
Step the other foot out,
But if the stranger were to walk away,
Pluck the petals, and place them on the soil;
Then if, after my death,
The world is still as cruel,
Stand on my grave with two feet,
And if a hummingbird, lands on my stone,
Take the seeds of a fruit,
And place your hand out,
And if the bird eats from your hand,
Step one foot out,
But if the bird rejects the seeds,
Take them and plant them,
For the hungry can eat them,
Then the world could be made less cruel;
Then if, after my death,
The world is still as cruel,
Stand on my grave with two feet,
But know as you live on,
That each small kind gesture,
Every flower given,
And every seed sown,
Has left a soft imprint on the earth,
For the world may not change,
But our small gestures linger,
And our hopes stay alive,
To pave a kinder path for those to follow.
The dancer with no legs
moves swiftly around the room,
knocking over the vase, and
gracefully turns to the window.
"I wish I were like the moon,"
She calls out into the night.
Her vain wishes like stones crash
through the window toward the stars.
I shift my legs to keep
one from falling asleep.
"Sometimes, I want to fall asleep,"
She tells me, “And never wake up."
Her strong arms lift the body
from wheeled chair to sofa.
And somewhere in the distance
Her stones splash into the ocean.
Line of inquiry:
“joy, empathy, compassion
on an upward arc
an effervescence eternal
causes bliss ignition to start” Unseeking Seeker
_______________________
Purity is dissolution complete
subsequent to passing every octave
spirit within spirit resting blissed sweet
peaceable compassion but concoctive
Through life's craving roses or fearful thorns
empathy, forgiveness remain a must
to tread challenging course blithe or forlorn
fortitude points luminary bow just
Above us arc stretches calling our name
irrepressibly chaste serene its zest
sorrows, anxiety, goals mere mind games
transcendent patient is Beloved’s nest
Reverent spirit willing with reason
travels curve in own orchestral season ~
________________________________
5th Placement : Premier Contest
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
May ‘26
as nature gathers
layers of quiet,
the heart is mended
by Your compassion
Reason does have a heart.
It has the smarts to show compassion.
Words of wisdom can wait.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: 3rd place 2026
Before the world learned how to pronounce my name,
you whispered it into the dark
like a prayer afraid of being overheard.
You stitched mornings together
with the thin thread of your patience—
tea boiling over, uniforms drying late,
rent waiting at the door like bad weather.
I thought childhood was effortless.
I did not see
how often your hunger
sat quietly beside mine
and chose silence.
Your palms smelled of turmeric, soap,
old books, rainwater,
and the iron scent of sacrifice.
When I failed,
you did not offer speeches.
You simply moved closer
and made grief feel smaller.
Even your anger
was another form of shelter—
a storm standing guard
outside a fragile house.
I left home
with borrowed courage
that was yours all along.
Every applause I have received
carries the echo of your sleepless nights.
Every room that welcomes me
was first opened by your refusal to quit.
People congratulate me
for climbing so high.
They do not know
I have been standing
on your invisible shoulders
my entire life.
And if history remembers me kindly,
let it write this in bold letters:
whatever shines in me
was lit by my mother first.
The dew of compassion gathers where night’s ache lingers longest;
tender drops on weary hearts, cooling what sorrow left burning;
at dawn they glimmer—grace given freely—brightening the bruised horizon.
When we sought a new world,
We looked courageously to the skies above,
To create an atmosphere of love
Where man could see and simply live.
When we sought a new world,
We scorned and laughed at the hate they bore,
The many troubles of hidden agonies,
And the daring competitions of life.
The man I know is not one of cruelty or hate,
But a man of genuine integrity and pride,
A man of virtue, with an eagle’s pride.
When Obi was a boy,
He played at hide and seek,
But now, in the new world we sought,
He is a man who lives for others.
Draw the sword to the heart of man,
Gaze at his face with lifted eyes
There, only sorrow you will find,
Hidden for a thousand generations.
The strong, independent fellow,
Who lives for his fellow man,
Who ignores his pain.
He barters his happiness for a flower’s smile.
It begins with the breath, a simple, rising tide,
The only clock that tells the honest truth.
It asks you, for a moment, to reside
Beyond the reaching hunger of your youth.
To sit within the center of the storm,
And watch the lightning strike without a flinch,
To let the tangled thoughts begin to form,
But never let them gain a single inch.
It takes a hunter’s patience, still and deep,
To track the way the light falls on the wall,
To wake the senses from their heavy sleep
And hear the silence underneath it all.
It is the scattering of your burdens on the floor,
Not casting them away, but letting go,
To stand before a wide and windowed door,
Content to simply watch the river flow.
You must be gentle with the wandering mind,
As one would guide a lamb back to the fold;
To leave the bitter stresses far behind,
And trade your iron chains for threads of gold.
For mindfulness is not a mountain peak,
Nor some elusive prize you have to find—
It is the very stillness that you seek,
The quiet home you carry in your mind.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.