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“it seems I must love even you easier loving the pretty things the children the morning glories easier (as compassion grows) to love the stranger easy even to realize (with compassion) the pain and terror implicit in those who treat the world around them with such brutality such hate but oh I am no christ blessing my executioners I am no buddha no saint nor have I that incandescent strength of faith illuminated yet even so you are a sentient being breathing this air even as I am a sentient being breathing this air seeking my own enlightenment I must seek yours if I had love enough if I had faith enough perhaps I could transcend your path and alter even that forgive me, then― I cannot love you yet” — Lenore Kandel
it seems I must love even you
easier loving the pretty things
the children the morning glories
easier (as compassion grows)
to love the stranger
easy even to realize (with compassion)
the pain and terror implicit in those
who treat the world around them
with such brutality such hate
but oh I am no christ
blessing my executioners
I am no buddha no saint
nor have I that incandescent strength
of faith illuminated
yet even so
you are a sentient being
breathing this air
even as I am a sentient being
breathing this air
seeking my own enlightenment
I must seek yours
if I had love enough
if I had faith enough
perhaps I could transcend your path
and alter even that
forgive me, then―
I cannot love you yet