Who are my people?

They are subtle whisperers

who do not ask for direction

but lead with knowledge gained

by endless painful lessons.



They are the dirty faces

that have gotten in the mud

beside others who labor,

gaining much from the gift of work.



They are the hand that never wavers

but offers gentle guidance

even for those not clean

or pleasantly perfumed.



They are the glad heart that opens

each day with a song

even as the rainstorm comes

to wash their feet in dirty water.



They are the heart that blossoms

for each new moment appearing

for they somehow are hearing

the beauty in cursed hearts forgotten.



They are the tears that linger

when truth enters an eye

and sets to rights the inner soul

of a forgotten humanity

long given up on

but never forgotten.



My people, my people

you are my hearts firm family.

Good poem. I like.
You are like granite, you rock.
I am like drunk, good night.

robust company
with me always



inspired "necklace"

Absolutely beautiful and heartfelt. Ty!

very touching write

Niceeeeee!

Thank you, all my wonderful people

JT
Harold
Angel
pkd
Noden
Mom