Compassion lies down with the wasting
as scorpions of death quick-step past,
where a legion of underfed icons
take part in a withering fast.

Compassion turns over tables
and then tends to go for the throat
of those whose riches are suspect,
for Compassion has only one coat.

Compassion was flayed without mercy
abused on a tree’s bitter bark.
The grim sky left widowed and shaking
as God wept alone in the dark.

Compassion considers our values.
Our occasional thoughts of the stripped
whilst we turn to the share-index tables
to check if our profits have dipped.

Compassion cleaves fast to the leaking.
Those holy reflections, like us.
For there in the midst of the maelstrom
Yeshua is cleaning their pus.

Compassion is waiting with patience
to see if our hearts can discern
our heat in the fire of the Gospel,
to smoke, or to recklessly burn.