What we see is limited

as long as we contain ourselves

in a container of comfortable existence

like herbs packaged for freshness

we try to keep ourselves naive

far away from the pounding of the pestle

more than happy to sit in ignorance, insensitive

to those longing for water where only depression will ever fall

as leaves are pounded to create a finer substance

as perfume is poured out to tantalize a world of senses

maybe we need to let ourselves be broken before we can truly live

maybe the exercise of faith will develop our backbone, our gristle

maybe through struggle we will gain the strength to become sensitive

to start walking, leaving behind our golden idols, our precious wall

maybe serving a little bread, maybe giving a cup of water is our penance

communion, together in a desert with those we considered senseless

maybe they are, but honestly, we aren’t much better in the way we love

but maybe that’s what makes grace so divine, so special

maybe because because they show the truth of who they really are, the self-righteous will always find the righteous offensive

yes, the truth is an ointment of terrible burning, yet still capable of making us well

love means sacrificing not taking, but maybe only it can make a difference