Naive Heart

To be naive is to have heart,

and hold it alongside humanity in equal light,

to not look away or turn your cheek, but to firmly take heed.       

         It is to reach for your glasses in search for clarity, a cloth to clean the subtle dirt; the rust forming quietly on the heart.

Naive — not a dirty word. It is not failure or terrible tragedy; it is unwavering hope and childlike wander in a half empty world.

Naivety— it knows no shame and brings not judgement to the door.

“Shame has no home here” it whispers, I—

      it, bares no weight or promise.

It is a visitor, fleeting at most.

We waft naivety negatively, in self assured dismay.

It is not harm, but perhaps,

                         unrelenting heartache.

No apologies required,

not for the purity of a heart,

     nor, for that,

              that leads with kindness and looks at life with desire, that which takes heed with gripping faith.

There are no apologies here,

                                     only prayers.

Prayers —

             filled with an ache akin to a crying child.          

Prayers—         

             reaching…

         for the betterment of the world, the softening of

           souls,

and the bravery to look, not way,

       but deeply

              and with intent.

Naive — I am, and

no, apologies live not here.

      just prayers, prayers, and more prayers.