What do we really give?

The eyes, you notice them first,

Eyes that have seen too much,

Eyes that know what’s false and what’s true,

Yet eyes that smile, warm and pure,

As you stand at the door; transfixed, unsure.

The smiles, yes, you notice them too,

Uncertain, yet bright, full of hope,

And dreams, untarnished by the past.

Their bodies frail, their clothes faded,

But nothing about them seems tired or jaded.

They may be

Children of war,

Or of abandonment,

Or of unimaginable terror.

But they want to live,

Are we really able to give?

Rushing every moment through life's giant schedule,

When did we lose time in this maze and riddle?

The money, the gifts, yes, they need them for sure,

But before you drop them and flee that door,

Do you feel this too?

That you might respect yourself more if you give them that lost time,

A long minute, frozen, just to hear them laugh, loud and free,

A gentle touch, a hug, a smile; will all that take up too much time?

But maybe innocence disfigured does still make you flinch?

You turn away - hey aren't you giving, standing at the fringe?

That clock, do you wish you could turn it back? To heal those scars?

Before the abandonment, or the terror, or the wars?

But then it’s all over, it’s time to run again,

To the giant schedule, the maze, the pain.

Does the mirror show just your own battered soul?

A futile attempt to feel again cleansed and whole?

Or does your heart skip a beat, do you feel that tug,

That glow of warmth that you cannot dismiss with a shrug?

Do the smiles and the eyes stay with you

Long after you leave that door?

For they may be

Children of war,

Or of abandonment,

Or of unimaginable terror.

But they want to live,

Are we really able to give?

image sourced from google.com