There is no question for which compassion is not the answer

When the road bends into shadow,

and the weight of regret lingers in the hollows of your chest,

when the past clings like mist at dawn,

there is no question for which compassion is not the answer.

 

When you stand at the edge of loss,

watching love slip beyond the horizon,

when grief builds a house within you,

brick by brick, unbidden, unrelenting…

there is no question for which compassion is not the answer.

 

When fear rises in the quiet hours,

whispering of what could have been, what may never be,

when your soul folds into itself, weary and unsure,

there is no question for which compassion is not the answer.

 

When another stands before you,

their story untold, their wounds unseen,

when their anger is a mask for sorrow,

when their silence is a plea, unheard—

there is no question for which compassion is not the answer.

When the burden of the world presses heavy,

and kindness seems a distant dream,

when cruelty parades as wisdom,

when walls rise where bridges should be…

there is no question for which compassion is not the answer.

 

May all that is unforgiven in you,

be released.

May your fears yield

their deepest tranquilities.

May all that is unlived in you,

blossom into a future,

graced with love.

 

And when you doubt, when you falter,

when the weight of life feels too much to bear,

remember…

there is no question for which compassion is not the answer.