Standing on an edge-balanced coin we sway
With good in one hand; in the other, bad.
A flimsy breeze can push us either way
And to a pile another emotion we add.

Meanness and spite from our surface can rise,
Gashing other souls in our human clan.
We can hide truth and make knots with our lies
And fire up found hatred, then swing the fan.

Or we can, rising up, douse malice's heat
And tenderly bind those sore-wounded souls.
Or untwist knots tied with selfish deceit
And make truer paths where kindness unfolds.

Humbling to know that, by nature's decree,
Both stink and sweetness flow as well through me.


Harry W. Yeatts Jr.