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Curling down in a corner lay
a will. “Why do you cry?”
The Will was wounded, attempted
but fell again. It’s sinews were alive,
bleeding, raking in pain. It did not speak
further, but raised its height. Slowly, and then fell.
Stood again, the miracle of love weaved around
tales of hopeless beauty. It lay quietly until the bear bell
was heard. But then, it did not stoop, the hell called.
He fought hard and the heavens opened the door.
It engulfed both, the bear asked, “why me?”
“Why not you, you made will strong.”
Will asked, “why me? I fell down.”
“Just because you got up, that’s why.”
The will and the bear were both shy.
The world needs us not now, they
thought, when humans choose to cry.
