This pain within me could be

The beginning of the end . . . .


The mind an untrustworthy instrument

Creates infirmities from mere nothing

My irenic life distorted, rearranged

The bitter end inferred by my insanity

While the facts infer a minor injury . . . .


Or maybe the dawn of even more pain

No relief proffered by the arms of death.

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word_man's picture

you`re mind can make you

you`re mind can make you ill

or it has the power to heal

Cascade's picture

Well, Stephen, I have sat

Well, Stephen, I have sat here a bit thinking about how I want to respond, other than "amazing brevity", which is always true...

Suffering is so very personal and yet it effects everyone. I have thought many times, "why is it even necessary".  Pain, would there be any empathy without it ?  Some of the strongest, most understanding, and giving of souls, are the ones that have endured so much and are so familiar with the exhaustion of it. Weird to think it beautiful, but it is  in so many ways. Forgive me if this review offends you.  It's just what it made me think of after I read it.

Stephen's picture

This was an excellent comment. No offense taken.

Pain is the touchstone of all spiritual growth.   --   Stephen

sweetwater's picture

Well I feel we are both on

Well I feel we are both on the same wavelength, every word written in your poem could be spoken by me, the end is nigh, falsely created by media medical warnings and an imagination that runs away with us. Sue.