All My Friends Are Bodhisattvas Poem by Chris Bradshaw

All my friends are Bodhisattvas
And when they visit, robed in red
I ask them twenty questions
Like a heart plays with a head

Faces framed by sorrow
Eyes like sun kissed seas
They tell of holy mountains
And tell me god is in the trees

I offer tea and coffee
With mindful, practiced care
But food is never mentioned
Their appetites are spare

And when evening's golden child
Has blossomed into night
I hand them each a poem
Expressing joy and deep delight

They come to see me often
These gentle friends of mine
Because my home is always open
For freedom's light to shine