The Trouble with Compassion

(from Within My Illusions)

The trouble with Compassion is:
she steals from Anger,
who arrives with guns blazing,
heart raging,
searching for a place to aim,
someone to take the blame.
Compassion robs Anger of its target,
sets it in slow orbit
to face off each opponent.

The trouble with Compassion
is the way she filters light,
reflects each being back to Anger
in such a way as if to say,
“This one is doing the best he can.”
“This one, too, is doing the best she can.”
“Just like you are doing the best that you can.”

Anger turns in measured circles,
searching for a place to land,
lurching this way and that,
grasping at the frayed end of a rope,
hoping to find something to take hold of,
until the only foe left is
Compassion herself.

But the trouble with Compassion is
her softness is formidable,
her lilac scent medicinal,
her truth too unequivocal,
and like a tender kiss
to a young child’s head,
she gently nudges
Anger’s eyelids closed,
coaxing it into sweet repose
so it can settle down and drift
off to sleep.