SMALL THINGS

They say that small things never hurt. But they are not being honest When they say such frivolous things. A bee is something small, But when it stings, it is a great hurt. Words are small things, But when they are shot, like bullets, From the hot muzzles of angry mouths They hurt so bad they can kill a fragile spirit Before it has had time to grow strong.
Some sins, they say, are too small To worry over, that they bear no weight On one's fame or character. But such sins, Done repeatedly over long years, Become, rather, the familiar habits Of a turgid and tumultuous life, And when the body is sloughed off At Death's arrival, the immortal part Sinks like a dark stone into a Profound oblivion Where it is forgotten by all that lives--- Forever.
It is said that once the God of Creation, Who made all things, seen and unseen, Let go of Greatness and became a single cell, Conceived in a virginal womb, Became a child, and then an adult, Who died a terrible death At the hands of men who thought themselves Great in the sweeping scheme of things. For love. For a love so pure Even light could not contain it, Greatness allowed itself to be crushed.
Because of this love for all things, great and small, Magnanimity beyond comprehension, Let go of Everything, shrank to almost nothing, And redeemed us, once and for all.


- Dan Doyle

http://mail.aol.com/36472-112/aol-6/en-us/mail/DisplayMessage.aspx?ws_popup=true