Those who delight in pain
Have no place in this world.
The world of the pious, of the righteous,
This should not transcend that
Of the caring...or it means nothing.
A pious man, well-dressed, well-spoken,
Yet cruel in deed is not truly pious.
The external is important, the internal is essential.
Kindness and compassion towards a fellow human,
Refraining from harsh words,
Sharing love, not pain,
These are the ways of a tzaddik.
True righteousness is in the little things.
It is easy to play a part, to
Promenade for strangers and the many.
It is much harder to masquerade
Before a friend.
With piety comes responsibility, never the right
To bestow hurt,
To wound so deep
The soul of one who cares.
That is not piety,
That is not religion,
But only a broken shard of human weakness
That flies as an arrow
Straight to the heart.
My heart is broken, my soul cries:
Why?
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