my first sonnet…


Are empaths thieves, of feelings not their own?

Like magpies stealing precious shining rings,

They see the pain by strangers’ faces shown

And understand our secret hidden things

Our tears run down their faces, our delight

May swell their hearts with love or blood or pride,

Fond friends, or someone lonely in the night

Who saw us on the telly and who cried

Unwitting thieves perhaps, but nonetheless

Possessed of power to bless or else to curse,

They know our soul while others merely guess,

May mean well and may love us much; far worse

The psychopath, who sees us without feeling,

Devoid of empathy, beyond all healing


by Gail


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