Making Room

In the dark crevices
between tightly packed
old wounds and the memories
of them, there is a little room.
Room enough for
a droplet of compassion
to flow, maybe in time
to let the tide of forgiveness
to wash over
the pebbles of pain
turn them into glistening
beads strung on a tatty
string of old grudge.

Maybe you will feel them
one by one, for quality
and texture, ponder their
origin and value. Maybe
you will find most
are worthless trinkets,
baubles that mean
nothing anymore.
You will consider the string itself
and wonder if it will hold much longer.

You will struggle between
throwing it all away and
stringing the best beads
over - on a fresh twine of
revived grudge. In the end
you may find a lacquered
box of hardened sadness
to keep the beads that are
the most significant.

Yes, you will go over
them many times. The trickle
of compassion or the tide
of forgiveness can do your
box no harm. Such would be
the memories you will hoard
forever. On days that you are
hurt again, you will seek out
your box to count your beads,
add new ones at time.

Happiness is when you come
upon your box after many years
and can no longer remember when
or why the beads came there.
It is when you don't want bead or
box anymore. I wish you just this.
Till then, I can be the keeper of
beads, box and string so your heart
is lighter and there is room in it
for love, compassion and trust.