Little Sins and the Soul

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They count the houses, count the years,

They count the laughter and the tears;

They measure wealth, they measure land,

And all the works of human hands.

****

Yet every life contains a part

No census finds, no charts impart:

The hidden landscape of the soul,

Where silent reckonings unfold.

****

If I were asked to take the count,

I would seek a different amount.

I'd ask each heart about its pain,

The hopes it lost, the dreams that remain.

****

I'd measure sorrow, room by room,

The hidden grief that walks in gloom;

I'd count the wounds no eyes reveal,

The silent hurts that never heal.

****

But suffering is not all we hide;

There is another truth inside:

The little sins that pass unseen,

Between what is and what has been.

****

The sharp reply we should have kept,

The promises that overslept;

The gentle word we thought-but forgot,

The helping hand we offered not.

****

No crimson crimes, no broken laws,

Just human nature's softer flaws;

A fleeting envy, small and vain,

That shadowed someone else's gain.

****

A moment's pride, a careless choice,

The failure to become a voice

For one who stood alone in fear,

Hoping that someone else would hear.

****

These things seem small from day to day,

Like grains of dust that blow away;

Yet dust can gather, stone by stone,

And shape the chambers of the soul.

****

For virtue is not built at once,

Nor lost through one great consequence.

The soul is fashioned, slow and deep,

By what we sow and what we keep.

****

A cold refusal, lightly given,

May echo far beyond the living;

And kindness left undone can grow

Into a grief we'll never know.

****

Yet every act of quiet grace,

A listening heart, a warm embrace,

Can heal a wound, restore a light,

And guide a weary soul through night.

****

So every human life becomes

A meeting place of shadows, suns;

Of hidden sorrows, secret scars,

And hopes that reach beyond the stars.

****

And when the final count is through,

What shall remain of me and you?

Not wealth, nor walls, nor land, nor gold,

But hearts with stories still untold.

****

Then let the census truly start-

Not with the house, but with the heart;

For every joy and every scar

Reveals the kind of souls we are.

****

And if there is one truth to know,

It is not how far we may go,

But whether, through our years on earth,

We gave more love than pain its birth.

****

For all humanity is bound

By wounds we hide and hopes we've found;

And every soul, both weak and strong,

Is shaped by little sins along.

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