Finally, I breathe for the first time in weeks as I step off the plane, but my heart isn't with me. I left it. How could I take it back? The poor are hungry, the poor are sick, their bagging, who can blame them?
We've heard the plea but how come we don't move? My eyes bare the tears as I fight to erase the bad memories, as I remember making myself eat something amongst them. "You're no help if you're not strong yourself." Remember that they said. But how could I, "remember" I didn't want to really.
It was impossible to look into the eyes of a child fighting each day without holding back the urge to yell at what life hands them. To yell as if this was my own child, to scream on the inside as if you understood what it is they face. But reality is, you don't know the half of it. You see the cover story, you hold them, you play and make them smile, give them what you can, pray over them, but once you go what is left there now is but a lonely world of poverty.
That is the single thought that brings me to my knees bagging the Lord to bless and pour over their world with so much protection please. As the plane takes off my eyes cry once more as I feel like I'm leaving behind so much that is so torn.
Funny how two society's so close differ drastically as I land back home. I remember the place that filled my heart with a compassion, and opened my eyes, but is that enough for me to go on here living the same old life. No. I now am not ignorant to what's truly out there. So much granted is what we take, but do you understand you're blessed for the little things like what's even on your plate. I'm so sick of a spoiled culture, but it's not that to even blame. It's the realization of what needs to be done out there. That's what doesn't slip my brain.
To give someone something who needs it more, isn't about being a good person, no. It's about understanding you're so blessed for what you have while putting yourself in their shoes. What if that was my situation, and Hell we all have situations. We all want arms holding us. Whose arm will you be holding? Reach out, we all need reaches to get above ground.
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A Haiti Heart
PoetryMissions in different parts of the world is a joy and passion in my life, so I come back home feeling many emotions. This poem is one expressive feeling that just flowed out of me that is intended to be felt and less poemized.