Being Moved.

I was not moved by the loss, the despair,
The real and perceived dangers.
Not by the anguish of the victims or their families.

I was not moved by the speeches,
Of the people of consequence.
I was not moved by the warmongering,
Of those seeking retribution and revenge.

No.

The courageous people,
Who stood strong and did not give into hatred,
Who refused to be defined,
By those, who because of their own suffering,
Chose to kill and maim their loved ones.

Those who refused to turn on their neighbours,
Who act out of love and compassion,
Despite their own unbearable suffering.

These are the people who move me to tears.

Vive.

The respite of an embrace

When your bucket is full to overflowing,
And you must carefully traverse an uncertain path,
Unaware of the obstacles still to be overcome,
It is in the stability of a firm embrace,
That you find sufficient solace,
To keep moving forward.

The Wedding Dress on the Door.

Silk, linen, taffeta and brocade,
Beaded and bejeweled,
Of every shape, size and vintage,
On each of a hundred front doors,
Hangs a wedding gown.
A simple sign of compassion and solidarity,
A poignant gesture,
For the girl who tragically,
Will never become a bride.