You are my compass, without you, I’m lost.
A Story:
I lived in a small house. Behind my house was a big forest. If I went in the forest, then I heared scary sounds. That was very dreadful. I had a son. He was 9 years old. One day he went into the forest and did not come back. I called the police. But it couldn't help. I went looking. I really wanted my son Robby back. I missed him so! With a flashlight and compass I went into the dark, eerie forest. Then the noises came again. But this time I also heard a scream. A scream from a nine year old child. It was Robby. Certainly! I stopped in front of a tunnel.
Sequel follows...
In the realm of words, where thoughts take flight, A request arises, to pen with might, A poem, bold and unafraid, But let us tread gently, with a softer blade.
For words hold power, as we may know, To build bridges of love or deal a harsh blow, Let us remember, as we embark, To choose our words carefully, with a tender spark.
Ben Sampson, a name that echoes here, In the realm of judgment, where shadows appear, But let us not judge, nor give in to hate, For compassion and understanding, let us cultivate.
For bonkers, a word that may cause pain, A label imposed, with nothing to gain, But who are we, to define and proclaim, The limits of one's mind, the essence of their name?
Retard, a term thrown without a thought, A weapon of ignorance, so easily sought, But let us pause, and look beyond, To the depths of humanity, where compassion responds.
Ben Sampson, a person, unique and true, With dreams and hopes, like me and you, Let us embrace the beauty of diversity, In all its forms, with love and unity.
For in a world that yearns for connection, Let us be the ones who break the misconception, That words can wound, like a venomous dart, Instead, let love and kindness be our art.
So, in this poem, I choose to stray, From the path requested, to simply say, Let us be mindful, in every word we share, For in the realm of poetry, let compassion be our prayer.
