Who Am I?

Who am I?
I am me.
I'm here.
I listen.
Sometimes I feel like I'm invisible;
I'll stand quietly by and no one notices,
I finally speak up and no one hears.
But being invisible has its advantages.
I unobtrusively observe.
I am not blind, nor deaf.
I see. I listen.
What do I see? What do I hear?
I see the lost, searching;
Searching for someone, somewhere;
Somewhere to be.
Why search? Where have you come from?
I hear the heart- and even soul-felt cries;
Cries of pain, and anger, and fear.
I fall back; I'm confused;
Why hurt? Where has the pain come from?
I feel.
I feel the pain and anger and fear.
Some is my own.
But I shut it out - it is in my way.
How can I help? Can I help?
What can I possibly do or say
That will heal, or help?
I want to help!
I hate to see the pain.
I hate to hear the talk...
Of despair...
And even death.
Death doesn't solve a damn thing!
It may end pain, and sadness, and fear,
But it also destroys hope.
I want to give hope.
But I fear there is not enough of me to give.
I spread my arms to you;
I welcome you to me.
But not all at once.
I fear that if I give too much,
There will be nothing left of me.
Who am I, anyway?
I am me.
I'm here.
I listen.

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