A tender talent which few posses,
That causes hardened hearts to soften,
Lifts the burden, allay the stress,
Is a talent that I use often.
What calms great feuds through silent deed,
Strengthens years that life allot,
Mends the break, heals the bleed,
Nurtures, loves and deepens thought?
Pensive hearing, a blessed gift,
Gentle as the falling snow,
The pessimistic soul to lift,
A glowing light in lands of woe.
No solution or plan desired,
I sit to hear other’s despair,
Peaceful prudence to be admired,
My lips are silent, my mouth is bare.
Hear the quiet call of affliction,
Savor squeals of pure delights,
Through the clear or clouded diction,
Point out stars in darkest nights.
The burn to speak a freeing word,
Unfettered from repressive dread,
Simply needing to be heard,
Comforted by words unsaid.
Hearing the cries of those in need,
Secrets are taxing things to keep,
Many a times the ones who heed,
Are the ones who lie at night to weep.
When sullen hearts yearn to speak,
And tears cause tender eyes to glisten,
Someone needs to hear the weak,
And for me, I choose to listen.