It’s Not Personal
The gift of empathy
Though I can feel it in and through my bones Every sorrow, Every pain, Every ecstatic moment burns.
At times an exquisite bliss filled fire That celebrates my soul. At others an empty merciless chill That hollows my insides Leaving a shell of disintegration —
A crumbled mountain That had appeared so formidable Is erased from the picture. My palate cleansed Is now a humbled plate.
Annine Massaro ©2020 All rights reserved






