‘Currency of Compassion’ and Other Poetry by Heath Alderman The Society July 21, 2014 Beauty, News of Note Currency of Compassion Throughout the history of humanity conscious coveting with eyes, insanity anxious and eager to grasp with empty hands a void in the beating heart, deviant plans rash, thoughtless takers of a world marching on loud voices troll the abominating song. Confusion and greed found, pushing those around steel striking a hot anvil, the primate sound monetary designs for the flesh now wrought spirit becoming faded, people distraught lies were loosed as if arrows from a taut bow not knowing where the strike or the mark would go. Sick sapiens swearing to currency bound taking all coin and folding paper they found kept more than what is logically needed divide masses, who have it and who seek it sweat with poly pockets full of currency their hearts and minds in a state of urgency. And what of those some who hold little to none never cared for money, no currency sum did they whisper, ponder a possible way to sum up their lives through compassionate days not through the promises of written down notes not by selfishly speaking truth or misquotes. Stop filling pockets with cold matter and weight to spread compassion is of a warming trait too many holes for greed and twisted wisdom failing, is the monetary based system no heavy guilt or weight will seek this fashion intangible, currency of compassion. Can the measure of one’s simple existence on scales weighed by compassion and relevance through time the coin loses its affinity no longer whispers of false divinity reach out to thy brother and sister, humane share the currency of compassion campaign. The Unhomed Unknown faces staring through swift, obscure rain emanating all grief, most unbearable pain parting from the heat and bright tropical rays howling chill winds blow ushering darkening days. Shunned from society, outcast and unclean almost invisible, oiled humane machine what is death when materials are beneath purpose tempered compassion, nothing to bequeath. Cramping muscles with hardened thighs are to ache poor shelter amongst cold air, summons to awake lefty, righty, low right, pace forward motion circulating blood heating through a dark ocean. Loss of loved family once sweet now turned sour reaping mortality’s swift sickle and power wandering through grey concrete jungles of man the unhomed, dispossessed and bereft, once began. Heath Alderman is a poet living in Florida. Featured Image: “Die Andacht des Grossvaters” by Albert Anker (1831-1910) Related Post ‘The Garrett Loft’ by Leo Yankevich In garret lofts poor artists have quite often painted women bathing, combing hair inside a nearby mirror… __________________________Your eyes softe... Tell the world:FacebookTwitterTumblrPinterestRedditLinkedInEmail Leave a Reply Cancel Reply Your email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email.