Lifelines
The people in this world who truly touch me, and even deeply,
Are the ones who display a touching, loving sensitivity.
They know that you have problems, (unique perhaps, even complex too),
And yet, even though not understanding such, are still kind to you.
They accept your unique issues, and work around them, helpfully,
Thereby responding to your situation very thoughtfully.
They’re gentle, compassionate, caring — even display empathy,
For they have a heart that responds despite your veil of mystery.
That being: Those depths that are deep within you, that no one else can know,
Where, for many struggling souls, tides of pain and heartache ebb and flow.
And where fear and gnawing anxiety threaten to overwhelm,
Because confidence and hope are no longer standing at the helm.
Oh yes, those words of reassurance, those touches that mean so much,
Are needed lifelines, that many midst their struggles eagerly clutch.
However, such lifelines can be few, and such good people rare,
They being: Those who via their selfless kindness, relief and comfort share.
Such people don’t stop to criticize, but to lend a helping hand,
Knowing that there are times in life when things don’t always go as planned.
And that life can deal us heavy blows, treat us harshly, unfairly,
And that when it does — a hand and not a boot — is the therapy.
Yes, such people truly touch me, and are the kind who can reach me,
For this impartial love that they show affects me very deeply.
It’s very healing, it lifts me up, it gives me hope, helps me cope,
For it’s a light in the darkness, and an unconditional rope.
And likewise for other folk too, who struggle emotionally
With those cold shadows of darkness that can haunt one internally.
And for whom the daily cares can often seem far too much to bear,
And who're so in need of a sensitivity that says, “I CARE.”
By Lance Landall
"Eyes that look are common, eyes that see are rare."
Teardrops
Only little teardrops — but not so little, pain many have inside,
Pain that seems loath to go, a tiring foe, pain too difficult to hide.
Yes, teardrops that trickle, possibly tickle, tears that well up and slide,
Tears that despite effort made, have their way, their say, resolve override.
Tears on the faces of children, adults, mums and dads, husbands and wives,
Tears too often seen, even unseen, featuring in too many lives.
Tears that last for ages, chapters or pages, tears that come and go,
Weeping that disturbs, sobbing that perturbs, tears that burst and overflow.
Only little teardrops, salty to the taste, smudged, dabbed at, brushed away,
Tears that silently fall, momentarily stall, tears that hurt convey.
Teardrops that flow, rapidly or slow, tears that gush, rush, and pride forgo,
A single tear, a stream, such a common theme, one that too many know.
Tears that cross race or caste, tears on the faces of rich and poor alike,
Tears that respect no position, condition, tears that suddenly strike.
Tears that lie in waiting, anticipating, tears that appear on cue,
Tears caused by others, or over others, and those things one can’t undo.
Only little teardrops maybe, but not so little, sadness deep within,
Pain bubbling from an inner well, tears one can’t quell, moist upon one’s skin.
Tears that coyly peek, then softly sneak, or hurriedly roll down one’s cheek,
Pains outward expression, confession — teardrops, with their telling streak.
By Lance Landall
Sensitive Souls
This world is full of sensitive souls who need to be treated sensitively,
Lest they somehow fall by the wayside, or suffer even more emotionally.
And oh, how these poor souls can suffer, for sensitivity and empathy
Are in short supply these days, with many others acting indifferently.
If only people would take more care, show much more thought, and go out of their way,
For in the lives of the sensitive, so much anxiety such would allay.
And thereby eliminating an even greater need, for when such souls bleed,
Far more effort and assistance is required, and less success is guaranteed.
Yes, this old world is rough and tough — therefore, life’s not easy for sensitive souls,
So oft found battered and stranded due to life’s rocky outcrops and hidden shoals.
But their lot is made much harder when others display an insensitivity,
For sensitive souls have sensitive hearts, hence why they’re wounded so easily.
And at the end of the day, there’s simply no need for all the wounds they receive,
Made far worse when there is little, nothing, or no one there to such pain relieve.
But rather, others who add insult to injury via insensitivity;
The shame and bane of self-absorbed, ambitious, or indifferent humanity.
By Lance Landall
