Like waves,
they could beat and pound upon us—
those lost
in heartache, hate, and fear.
With words
like angry fists
they would jab and numb us,
refuse the Christlike touch
of drawing near.
Do we then mock
our own deep calm of wholeness
by sending forth
more volleys of despair?
Or still the tremor
with balm of
sweet forgiveness,
disarm—with love—
each vain offensive dare?
