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.
Karma is real
Across eons
Stay woke
Thro' troubles
Thought simple
Vistas pure
Maladies heal
Spirits soar
Leave the dark
Endure the present
Dwell on trutjh
Grow compassion
Advance to Dharma
Pure in spirit
A soul at peace
Tranquil from within
When you put on your coat
and light a smoke
on the front stoop, December
gusts tear into you. But
that drag rides all the way
down as you shut your lids.
A hat like your dad
wore when he thrummed
his bass at the clubs, skitters
down the street, no one
to chase and bring it back.
For the first time you notice
a distant train bellowing
like a bull past consolation.
A man in his 20’s wanders
under a streetlamp, snuffling
now unmistakable. You offer
your handkerchief
but the wind is fierce
and deafening. The night enfolds
him like an endless black
curtain. You barely make
out the whimper you follow
for blocks, until you find
a spaniel too afflicted
to stand. Why is tonight
different? Saturday or Wednesday
you’d have returned home.
But now, at 10:37, something
rough bruises your chest.
You remove your jacket
and wrap him delicately, singing
in a whisper. You bend
to kiss his sloppy snout.
Now something turns
your bones to light.
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