It is never the unworthy soul
That questions its own worth:
The doubt: ripe, loamy, untoward,
that Springs from the new Earth.
It's dry swirling sand in mortal urns,
Makes angels to disband
And yet, a light, a fight, a life
For the whole of YOU I'll stand.
I'll stand with open palm outstretched
To quell the storm inside.
I'll stand and talk of peace and pain
For life's a jagged ride.
The rain may fall in torrents
Overwhelming leaves of grass.
But kindness binds together
The small puddles on the glass.
Some think that we are all for nought
Words written in wet sand.
But true kinship cannot be bought,
And so for you, I'll stand.
* For Neeta
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