Hoping to catch even a glimpse of my friend, I once again wander the city streets, bracing myself with each step against an icy wind that has brought dark clouds, leaving the world, like my mood, overcast with gray. Scattered here and there, I catch sight of the posters I’d stapled to telephone poles and wooden fences, though time has left them tattered and washed-out from the harsh change of seasons.
“Have you seen her?” they ask in long since faded black and white print. Yet, while my eyes fill with tears as I gaze upon them – she’s been gone for some time now, and I miss her tremendously – even here, on these weather-worn placards, hers shine through the dim with hope for those amongst us who may be lost and weary. And her smile, oh, that smile, sings of a love that at one time could melt the cruelest of hearts.
But times have changed.
Then again, my head lost in a Pollyannic fog, maybe I’d just failed to notice that this metamorphosis has been long underway. Or worse, rather than the gloomy transformation I’ve envisioned, we’re simply returning to who we’ve always been...
That dagger of possibility cuts deep into my soul, sending a shiver down my back. It’s then I realize she’s not lost. She most certainly didn’t just “disappear.” Rather, she was abandoned, left behind, as her empathy and understanding could no longer be stomached. The traits she tried to instill in each of us had become obstacles to the filling of coffers, so much so, there was no room in the world of greed for a welcoming smile or open heart.
But truth be told, even those of us who said we cared – myself included – did nothing more than fearfully stand by and watch as she was driven away by the heckling and angry voices. The fingers pointing in rage, a needed scapegoat finally found.
Really – and I hate to admit it – the signs have always been there. We’d seen her misty eyes when tolerance and acceptance were pushed aside – gasped as the less fortunate were denied that which they so desperately needed. We winced with her when it became the “right” thing to build bigger fences rather than a longer table. And we whispered sadly, watching as she sighed – ever so softly – when openness and opportunity for all turned into an invitation-only event.
But when it became evident hate and deception were perfectly acceptable, and in fact openly celebrated, her soulful sobs should have caused us to rise up with loud voices. Instead, the few who did speak up were chastised, labelled as pariahs, leaving their spark of hope nothing more than charred ashes, scorched by the fiery glee so prominently aglow in the eyes of those rejoicing her demise.
With that, despite rallies and candlelight vigils, my dear friend Compassion remains missing, lost to the cold breeze. And it gives me cause to wonder, with each passing day, if she’s even missed.
“Have you seen her?” they ask in long since faded black and white print. Yet, while my eyes fill with tears as I gaze upon them – she’s been gone for some time now, and I miss her tremendously – even here, on these weather-worn placards, hers shine through the dim with hope for those amongst us who may be lost and weary. And her smile, oh, that smile, sings of a love that at one time could melt the cruelest of hearts.
But times have changed.
Then again, my head lost in a Pollyannic fog, maybe I’d just failed to notice that this metamorphosis has been long underway. Or worse, rather than the gloomy transformation I’ve envisioned, we’re simply returning to who we’ve always been...
That dagger of possibility cuts deep into my soul, sending a shiver down my back. It’s then I realize she’s not lost. She most certainly didn’t just “disappear.” Rather, she was abandoned, left behind, as her empathy and understanding could no longer be stomached. The traits she tried to instill in each of us had become obstacles to the filling of coffers, so much so, there was no room in the world of greed for a welcoming smile or open heart.
But truth be told, even those of us who said we cared – myself included – did nothing more than fearfully stand by and watch as she was driven away by the heckling and angry voices. The fingers pointing in rage, a needed scapegoat finally found.
Really – and I hate to admit it – the signs have always been there. We’d seen her misty eyes when tolerance and acceptance were pushed aside – gasped as the less fortunate were denied that which they so desperately needed. We winced with her when it became the “right” thing to build bigger fences rather than a longer table. And we whispered sadly, watching as she sighed – ever so softly – when openness and opportunity for all turned into an invitation-only event.
But when it became evident hate and deception were perfectly acceptable, and in fact openly celebrated, her soulful sobs should have caused us to rise up with loud voices. Instead, the few who did speak up were chastised, labelled as pariahs, leaving their spark of hope nothing more than charred ashes, scorched by the fiery glee so prominently aglow in the eyes of those rejoicing her demise.
With that, despite rallies and candlelight vigils, my dear friend Compassion remains missing, lost to the cold breeze. And it gives me cause to wonder, with each passing day, if she’s even missed.
