by Samantha Syrnich
How many forms compassion takes,
With neither shape nor form?
In gentle words that mend the aching heart,
In hands that shelter from the storm.
For what can flow yet still remain,
Embrace both warm and cold?
No fixed design,
the heart’s own art,
Yet powerful to sculpt and hold.
In open hands it meets the need,
Through patient eyes it sees.
In graceful deeds it moves unseen,
And shapes the world with ease.
Too vast to grasp,
too deep to name,
A stream,
a flame,
the sky—
Compassion weaves without a frame,
Yet holds us as it passes by.
© 2025 Samantha Syrnich TLC. All Rights Reserved.
The Phoenix Quill: Words Born of Fire, Inked in Truth 