19 Apr 2005

Who am I to speak of pain? Except perhaps that like all who live, I have suffered… that sometimes there is loneliness hollowed to an emptiness that falls forever, that when one’s spirit breaks — despair has houses from within which you can find no doors out. But I am in truth no one to speak of pain, for so many have lived who bore such the greater anguish in complete silence; too many have borne injuries to limb and living — and shouldered it all in grim determination to keep on, through whatever life strikes them with (and do so with heart). Who am I to say I have suffered? I am a small man indeed to ignore the cheer of children who know they are not long to stay on this earth, to believe that I am like Job in any way, who kept faith despite such tragedies I will never comprehend. I should say instead to let my dreams be crushed, to let me die alone and unloved: let me be thus an heir to humanity: who from the fire emerges forged a true image of that which is love. I am no one to speak of pain, except that from within the shore, I have looked over the horrible landscape and marveled at those who knew every pebble, when all I wanted to do was forget any of it ever happened.

posted by John H. Doe @ 12:01 am

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