Shame. Shame is a small town.
Shame is a small town in the middle of nowhere; and I?
Well; I keep finding it.
It sits alone at the end of Hatemyself Highway,
With no option to stop.
Shame has that way of looking like it is impassable.
I know it very well.
Like stones hidden in the lining of a denim jacket.
My constant company,
Along with hatred; hatred of myself, hatred of me,
Of that which reminds me.
But I hear from somewhere deep, deep down, off in the distance
Where shame does not reside,
Comes slowly t’ward me; the ringing of the empathy bell.
The sweet empathy bell,
Softly, but so powerful, like a compelling wind chime.
But it is not the breeze
Or evening wind that calls this bell to sound out in warning.
It’s the clanging of shame
That brings this bell to ring out and then silence hatred’s noise.
The just empathy bell.
Righteous in its sounding belief, gracious, its tender noise
Sounding in both my ears,
While shame and hate whisper in one, urging me to believe.
The kind empathy bell.
Blocking their whispers and urges, singing to me of love
Insurmountable, and shame cannot be found on the map.
Thank you M