I feel the hurt of those around

as if their pain were mine.
I suffer with the lonely,

feel the grief of those who mourn,
of those whose lives were torn

as they began to try to live.
 

I ache with so called ‘misfits'

(in a world that seeks to join)

aware that in their ‘oddity’,

they often feel unloved---

somehow cast aside

by those whose lives

connect  with theirs.
I

 feel their endless anguish---

the years of non-acceptance
from a world that

cannot comprehend

the need to be unique,

to fulfill a destiny.

I look into their eyes

and see the misery they try to hide;
the path of tears is deeply etched 
in cheeks that never smile.
Do I ask to be released?

Pray to be less open,
when it took me years of breaking

to love instead of judge?

There has to be a purpose

for this journey I am making,
beyond my understanding now---

one that ends in good.
If this were taken from me 

my life might be much smoother,
but it wouldn't be a better life;

at least not one for me.

 

For me, to live means caring,

sharing, if need be, 

the pain of those who suffer,
and helping bear the load.
But I'll not keep this pain inside

as if it had some virtue.
I'll give it up to God

who has the power to make it leave.

As much as I might empathize,

it's nothing when compared
to what God feels for others---

and what He feels for me.
Just as others wept with me and prayed when I was down,
I will do the same for them,

believing that the God I serve
will hear my prayers and answer;

heal the wounded people, 
and cause them to rejoice.
 

When they do...I will too.