Blind-spot…

“We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.”  – Plato

“Too much self-centered attitude, you see, brings, you see, isolation. Result: loneliness, fear, anger. The extreme self-centered attitude is the source of suffering.”  – Dalai Lama

“Opinion is really the lowest form of human knowledge. It requires no accountability, no understanding. The highest form of knowledge is empathy, for it requires us to suspend our egos and live in another’s world. It requires profound purpose larger than the self kind of understanding.” – Bill Bullard

 

Blind-spot…

 

Yes. I’ve observed

You can read the sports section

Financial updates, fashion – a mask

News sensations and acts of

Aggression,

 

Yet, you never could see me

Staring way  outside my periphery ( you don’t know me)

Desperate to avoid, oh, the chinks in your armor

These eyes, they frighten you

Fearing, they could expose you

 

Some say your eyes are vacant

Others say, hostility resides there

You declare astuteness and brilliance

Like an open book

I read the pain from where you strikeout

 

You are terrified

Your wounds open, raw

Could find healing

A vessel for your pain

I never judge and my lips remain sealed

 

You remain locked in the fear

Fear that I would know you too well

Yet, I already do

 

Bisous,

Léa

calluses

“Every heart sings a song, incomplete until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet”   –  Plato

 

“Have a heart that never hardens, and a temper that never tires, and a touch that never hurts.”  

–  Charles Dickens

 

“Love consists in this, that two solitudes protect and touch and greet each other.”  

–   Rainer Maria Rilke

 

 

 

 

calluses

*

like fingerprints

 your touch

lands delicately

like a butterfly

on the small

of my back

as each journey

begins

rough against

softness as

firmness increases

pressure mounts

indelibly you engrave

upon flesh

the stories

we write

the roughness

of your fingertips

my

neumonic device

*

bisous,

léa

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