Wednesday, April 17, 2013


How easily we empathise
with those we call our own,
and in the doing then deny,
that we are all as one.

How easily we turn our minds,
to those who suffer close,
selective in our sympathy;
dismiss the other's loss.

How easily we tell ourselves,
our pain is worse than most,
that suffering in others,
is not our first concern.

How easily we can divide,
the world in which we are,
into those definitions;
the labels, 'them' and 'us.'

There is no doubt a limit,
to what we can absorb,
but it can be enough to know;
our grieving is not more.

Within the heart of living,
we beat and move as one,
and that which others feel;
is what we do become.


1 comment:

  1. This is a lovely tribute, Ros. Should be printed on a poster and put up everywhere. I like the last stanza clearly repeating the truth of the poem.