A desperate call for help
Is on both of our faces,
Our brows are furrowed, so
Our hands are full.
We lay arms,
So bare hands can move mountains.
The breeze, sometimes
The cold winds of white snow
Exist in our both places.
If faith evades us,
We have each other.
Our minds massaged by prayer,
We must remember mountains
With mustard trees
Do not lead to fatiguing dead ends,
Though if we choose to feed fear
We are naked again.
We are on the return.
Empathy is Poetry 