Compassion's Taste

Jagged splintered nails,
scrape at the flesh
protecting my heart,
sounds of popping veins
and internal grinding 
of halfhearted grins
and clear spoken lies.
Blackened thick smoke
chokes out the color
leaving it's resin, a stain,
on each droplet
of crimson filled pain.
I wallow, and drag my feet
while they point fingers
and grit their teeth 
judgement surrounds, and lingers.
I... can't... breathe...
nothing but dead weight,
impossible to be saved
eyes take a final somber gaze
as two feet step forward
vision blurred,
I can't see his face
his finger traces a line in the sand,
he crosses and stands at my side.
A tense silence hangs in the air
and as I look up into his eyes
his glare, a warning,
to those who'd watch my soul, shrivel and die.
He comes to his knees, reaching down,
to caress my hair,
a tear collects and flows to the ground
his thumb erases the trail
and warm lips touch mine
gently, he breathes life into lungs, long stale.
As my world awakened
a simple realization,
with one act of kindness
one...
a slipping mind, broken heart, and dying soul
can be saved
and to this day,
I've never forgotten
the compassion written across his face,
his lips that tasted, of the same torn taste.  
 

Reviews

[Steve]

This is inspiring. I admit I don't really understand the last line of 'torn taste'....but I like how this one builds and builds up to something sweet and nice.

[Aramey]

Thank you Steve, the line with "torn taste" meaning he was just as torn as she, but as the poem signals- the strength of torn people together, is a whole new world.