Compassion

Compassion

doesn't act as advertised.

It's not a moral code.

It's not political.

It's not a fabric.

 

Compassion is, say,

ceasing to judge the ones

who hardly read

and standing in awe of those

who build the house you can't.

But even more, it's stopping to learn

from those who practise neither

when stopping for those

who practise both.

 

It's loving another because they exist,

not "timing" or

"compa...tabi...lity".

 

It's accepting you're a yobbo,

have always been a yobbo,

will always be a yobbo;

 

that there isn't a soul

on earth

who's not a yobbo.

 

It's indifference to the win.

It's interest in the loss.

 

Compassion ain't religious statues,

calls for action

or righteous drives.

 

It's the final, drawn-out, heavy

admission:

 

you're just like everyone else.

 

No better,

no worse.

You have your gifts, your faults,

and you know as much

as anyone knows,

 

which is

of course

nothing, really.

Which is

about

as much as we ever need to know.