I breathe whole breaths of comfort & congratulation
sending sky addressed prayers on behalf of another.
Soliciting the space on my broad shoulders and
in my adjustable embrace...
But no healer's hands can heal his own ailment.
Can't suck the venom from his own wound.
But this pit, this vast stretch of white space
I try to force shut.
Like trying to sew up this void with my own spent thread
and
dull needle.
Where does a well-wisher go?
Into whose arms do they collapse?
When do their arms, constantly outstretched, finally come down
to rest?
To give without expecting,
to accept without exceptions
are a well-wisher's affliction
and their godforsaken blessing.
There are special people in this world who heal the souls of the people they touch. You are definitely one of those people! And there are people, especially made to heal the hearts and souls of those worn down from healing other's.
ReplyDelete(I think their meeting ran late and now their lost, but their on the way, I promise!)
One day the eyes of your perfect helping hand will claim your gaze and heal your soul in a swift glance. It happens with the swift change of a wind's direction, before you can prepare to be swept away. The waiting is the hardest part...