The Forging of the Gentle Soul

The Forging of the Gentle Soul They are not born beneath a softer sky, With hearts untouched, where shadows never lie. The kindest souls, they do not simply bloom, Escaping darkness, knowing not its gloom. They are not gifted, from their earliest breath, With innate softness, ignorant of death— Of tiny deaths, of hopes that turn to dust, Of shattered certainties, of broken trust. The kindest people? They are forged in heat, Where life's relentless hammers sadly beat. They are the ones who've known the biting cold, A story written, tragically unfolds. They are the ones who've stumbled in the night, And fought like warriors for a single light. Who've dug themselves from pits of deep despair, And clawed for breath in thin and heavy air. They are the alchemists of loss and pain, Who sift the ashes, finding seeds of grain. Who gather fragments of a broken dream, And find a lesson flowing like a stream. They do not curse the hand that dealt the blow, But understand the way the hard winds blow, And see in suffering, a different truth, A deepening of spirit, seasoned youth. For life has tried to harden them, to steel Their hearts against the tenderness they feel. Circumstance has whispered, "Close the door, Protect yourself, and feel no sorrow more." The world has shown them cruelty, sharp and deep, Secrets of harshness that the broken keep. But they have chosen, in the quiet fight, To turn towards the vulnerable, the light. They choose to soften where the edges fray, To yield to grace, in a deliberate way. They choose compassion, not because it's ease, But because they've shivered on their knees, And longed for comfort, longed for just a sign, Of understanding, human and divine. They have seen firsthand, felt it to the core, Why tenderness is needed, and much more. They do not just exist, they bravely stand, With open hearts and a most gentle hand. They believe in goodness, though they've seen it fail, Because they've known the power of the trail— The lonely journey, where a touch, a word, A moment's mercy, powerfully has stirred The will to live, to breathe, to hope again, Breaking the cycle of inflicted pain. So if you meet a soul with eyes so kind, A gentle spirit, a compassionate mind, Know that they wear the scars of battles won, Beneath the quiet rising of the sun. Their softness isn't weakness, thin and frail, But strength distilled, that weathered every gale. The kindest people? They are beautifully made, In darkest hours, where light refused to fade. They chose the path where empathy is key, A testament to strength, for all to see.