Could there be ways to live

this life of mine decreed,

without the shining edge

of pain, so finely sheathed,

and then in time released,

to cut through minutes

neat, and chop the days

and sodden nights, through

realms of merciless sleep?

Or is it all so written, in

times before I breathed,

that life would be arranged

with pain, as waiting thief?

Can there be an answer

to such a question met, in

knowing there can never

be, and that the ink stays

wet, allowing all the seep

and blurring on the pages,

where suffering does dress

the naked soul she graces.

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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2 Responses to Pain

  1. lindaluna583 says:

    Wow! This reminds me of a line from Princess Bride: “Life IS pain, Highness.”

  2. Pingback: Pain — P5 – poems, prose, painting, pondering, people. – Dark Side of the Moon

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