The Saint of Sympathy calls to me
Raising her arms wide, she welcomes me,
“Come home,” she whispers.
I doubt my ability to move,
My bones have become dense,
Making movement a struggle.
She is also the Saint of Harmony,
Choosing to lift me so my eyes may see
Above the overbearing brick wall.
She opens light as if ‘twere merely contained.
I feel love bursting through my bosom
Connecting me with her hope.
Oh Saint of my Family,
You can be anything you wish to be
Serving as malleable love to fit any emptiness.
You work without requirement of reward.
Self-less Saint of my Heart
I am forever indebted to you.