The Listener

A gift he had, to sense the pain of others,

Even his dreams were haunted by,

Souls wandering in pain, or some deed left undone,

Pulled towards him by his sensitivity,

Hence not able to enter the House of the Lord.

People came from far and distant lands,

Just to tell their tales, their confessions of heart,

Wringing their hands in grief,

Some crying like a child,

While he sat, with an intense expression,

But without a word, or even any consolation,

He just listened to the endless pain of the hurt souls,

And all were just healed, by his wise eyes,

Which saw the wound, and in silence,

Put a balm of reassurance, of hope on it,

That none were bereft of adversity,

To accept and be resilient during the storm,

Surely will the other day bring fruits from the Lord,

He knows how much He gives or takes.

He grew old, his fame drew many from faraway,

Till one day he just started crying,

And like the vault of so many pains he had held,

It just burst open,

And each drop that fell on ground,

A flower blossomed,

Till he lay lifeless, in peace,

Amongst the myriad flowers God had made for him,

A gift of the Lord, the listener bed was lined with 

Intoxicating flowers,

And where the grave was made,

His face was in peace, and in deep sleep,

Floating beyond the clouds and above,

To eternity and a union with souls he had met in dreams.