Christina A. Sharik


I hear the stories and I start to feel the pain.
It’s happened to me, time and time again –
I don’t run away or fight it anymore,
when I hear that complicated
one-syllable word: War.

I feel the hurt, your fears,
the pain when you can’t shed the tears;
and for awhile I’m so inside your memories
that I become you,
and I am one with you.

If I can absorb your hurt,
if I can dream your nightmare
for just one night,
I can set you free,
and after a time, we will all right,
because, after all,
I am not you.
But you are part of me.