It is a blessing for sorrow to grow deep,

To wrap throughout your innards,

Take a peek over ventricles,

And define neural fissures,

 

Creep suddenly behind the eyes,

And trample what synapses dare surmise,

Stop dreams before they gestate,

And strangle the hopes that infiltrate,

 

For if it reaches so firm,

And if it cuts for maximal blood,

For if it consumes every feeling,

And not for one moment, you’re without,

 

Then, after all, nothing worse may add more,

And it has run its course about.

_________________

 

R.V. Smith: “The Pain”, 07-25-24

 

© 2024 by Ryan Vincent Smith