"I stretch out my hand"

(Penned after reading the First
Epistle of John on June 14, 2009).

Alone, surrounded by blackness.
Offering aid, comfort,
To clasp another,
To unite amidst the darkness,
I stretch out my hand.

Extended, palm exposed,
Reaching...
SLAP!

Stinging my fingers retract.
Wounded I recoil my hand,
Withdrawing back into myself.

Fingers throbbing,
Meditating on the hurt,
Blood pulsating,
Heat radiating,
Drops of sweat begin to form.
Tightening, tension,
My fingers curl...
I thrust my fist into flesh!

Relief of tension,
As muscles relax,
Pent up rage dispelled,
Fingers tingling--
The satisfying sting of justice.

Then my eyes open and I see--
The pain inflicted in return,
Greater than the wound sustained:
The terrible darkness of the eye.

Overwhelmed by my hurting hand
And the hurt inflicted by my hand,
I weep
Over my pain, my brother's pain,
The very existence of pain.

Weak, hand trembling,
I reach out once more.
Hesitant, timid,
Vulnerable, unprotected.

At present, fingers quaking,
Wounds tender at the touch,
But perhaps someday soon,
In brilliant light we shall fully embrace.