It does not make distinction
It is free but with great price
No one can be fulfilled without it
Yet it is worthless when kept.
We cannot hold it in tightly clenched fists
And dictators cannot put one finger on it
to control its power.
It does not recognize distance
It cannot be withheld
For if it is withheld
It is not what its boast proclaims
It speaks, but often in silence
It shouts in breath-prayers
It heals wounds inflicted by it
It humbles both the giver and the receiver
It quiets the wanting when given away
It comforts when shared
It is not a thing, yet it is everything
It is love.
© Janet Martin