Before It’s Too Late

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I don’t wear a color,  
I don’t belong to any side,  
A shade of compassion,  
A whisper of hope,  
Invisible yet profound.  

Goodness is my only flag,  
and kind hearts — my tribe,  
A silent chorus of souls  
Reaching out in tenderness,  
Binding wounds with gentle hands.  

We build and build,  
brick by brick,  
dreaming of comfort  
for children we may never see,  
of warm nights and safe havens,  
of laughter echoing through open doors.  

Gold fills our hands,  
but someday,  
a quiet ache will whisper —  
“If only I had shared a little…”  
A gentle reminder  
of the fleeting nature of wealth,  
of moments lost to greed and silence.  

By then, the wells we dug  
will belong to others,  
their dry lips longing for rain,  
their empty hands reaching for hope,  
while our own hands  
no longer reach the light we once knew.  

So before the sunset falls,  
before the shadows lengthen,  
set aside a piece of your plenty —  
a gesture of mercy,  
a spark of kindness,  
a gift for those who need it most.  

For the voiceless,  
for the broken,  
for the ones who sleep hungry tonight,  
who dream of a better dawn.  

A meal, a blanket, a smile —  
small things,  
yet they carry the weight of eternity,  
they echo in the heavens,  
resounding beyond time.  

When you give with love,  
even death will bow gently,  
and your spirit, unburdened,  
will walk away without fear,  
knowing you’ve woven light into the world,  
a legacy of compassion that never fades.

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