They Said He Doesn’t Know

Could one remind you of your beauty knowing not his own,
wouldn’t experience’s lack flash be swiftly shown,
if he knew not what he was doing, how is it that you see,
the love in all the faces, flowing heals so effortlessly,
are you waiting for him to brag, or shout it loud and proud,
but what would that make him, but a gimmick behind a shroud,
should he sit and count the souls that he has helped to mend,
could he be so egotistical and still allow blessings to bend,
from the tip of astral possibility suddenly becoming mold,
like ancient clay you’ve heard them say “his spirit is so old,”
perhaps you think his purpose just came in on a whim,
maybe it’s not he who sees himself not, are you sure that you see him

There there in skinny arms, your tears have come to be bared,
do you find him novice in that moment or even half-way scared,
of the tireless mission moving mountains to free of night and mare,
do you think his need for solitude and silence means he doesn’t care,
perhaps you think he calls your soul, to validate bruised broken self,
but see how long he plays alone, old book upon a shelf,
-is all he needs for hours on end to simply pass the time,
wasn’t he the graceful dancer melting all your rime,
how it collected on that tired heart so weary from winter walk,
wasn’t he protective as an owl while he listened to you talk
so how is it that you think, he really doesn’t know,
the secret you say he unlocked in you, also helps him glow.

But here is the mystery, some healers won’t dare to say,
it is none of us that gives anything, but light that gives the day.

by Kevon Simpson © 2015

Workshop: Write Your Soul Free coming in February!
Photo Credit: Cameron Gray

 

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