I used to believe that a heart of stone is better.
It won’t hurt at the sight of hungry young children at the streets.
It wouldn’t be squeezed at the thought that all you can is leave them
is food for their stomach and not much anything else.
It wouldn’t flinch at the blood
thrown all over your tv screen
during evening news while you eat dinner.
It won’t wonder why some people could do the things that they do
and why people like you let them do so.
It won’t bleed when somebody who is supposed to there forever
had left and you’re alone and no one to wipe away the tears
you wish others will never see.
It won’t hope for something you will never have
because it wasn’t meant for you.
It won’t feel any hurt, any anger or sadness– or anything at all.
A heart of stone doesn’t swell at the sight of a very young boy
whom you expect to be very rude because of how he looks like
help a young lady cross the street and makes you think–
something is very wrong with your judgement.
It wouldn’t overflow with happiness
at the gifts that were meant for you to have;
it won’t thump at the sight of a smile
you’ve been waiting to see.
No, a heart of stone doesn’t leap at the wonders
that God had cleverly placed where you would discover them:
a star, though very faint, still shines through the clouds;
the view of the city, and the clear skies from the floor where you work
after a nasty storm;
and a spot of blue– in the middle of the gray–
presents from Him who takes away
the stone and gives life
to the heart of flesh.
Ezekiel 11:19: I will give them an undivided heart and put a new spirit in them; I will remove from them their heart of stone and give them a heart of flesh.