Tag Archives: pain

Again

Again
in the night, the fire went out.
Devoid of pity, winter
invaded the room,
assaulted my body –
my thin blanket offered little resistance.
Cold chews my knuckles,
gnaws my knees.
The weak sun forces
pale shafts of light,
but no warmth,
through the dirty window.
I faintly see my breath
as I turn my head
to gaze on gray-black ash
within the fireplace.
For a moment, I ponder:
stay put, let go, give up
Then their faces rise before me
laughing, loving faces,
gone forever yet
somehow with me always.
And for their sake,
and perhaps for my own,
I stretch my painful limbs
and force myself from the bed
to shuffle stiffly across the floor,
light the fire,
begin another day,
again.

3 December 2012
SW 208
MDW – SDF

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Sleep’s refuge

Like a clutter of spiders,
the cold crept over him,
probing old wounds,
prodding old pains.

He stirred; but half-awake
he searched the bed.
Touching nothing,
finding no one,
he remembered, shivered,
pulled the cover tighter,
and sought again
sleep’s refuge.

18 September 2012
Shire on the Hudson

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How much pain

I cannot imagine the pain
I witness from a distance
I have no first-hand experience

And yet,
as I hear the news from
Milwaukee
Aleppo
the Nuba Mountains
Aurora
Rutshuru
Damaturu

As I know
that violence
random
planned
systemic
structural
violence
harms
my sisters and brothers
nearby and far away

My heart breaks – anew – tonight
my heart breaks – again – tonight
my heart breaks – still – tonight

And I wonder
how much pain
can the hearts of
individuals and communities
ripped by violence
endure

5 August 2012
Shire on the Hudson
Manhattan

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Once a place of great delight

Anxiety tugs at his heart
and memories rise
as he nears the place –
memories once sweet
have now turned ashen,
burned bitter;
pain sears him,
slows him,
stops him.
He shakes his head
squeezes his eyes,
clutches his chest.

The pain remains,
eases,
increases.

Unwilling to turn away,
he deeply sighs
and moves forward,
to cross the threshold,
recognizing the pain will be
his constant companion
from that moment forward,
forevermore.

2 June 2012
While welcomed at Moe’s
Louisville, KY

 

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The pain comes

Every morning,
the pain comes.
Upon waking,
the pain comes.

Different places,
the pain comes.
Different degrees,
the pain comes.

Constant companion,
the pain comes.
Keep on going,
the pain comes.

UA 3460
ORD – SDF
17 April 2012

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Too often

Too often we hasten to speak
when we should faithfully
keep a silent watch of love.

Too often we scramble to fix
when we should tenderly
hold another’s pain in trust.

16 July to 26 November 2011
Ghost Ranch, NM
Staples Mill Amtrak Station
Richmond, VA

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A morning thought on age

As I prepare for the day,
working through pains and aches,
it occurs to me that
I am either
too young to be this old
or
too old to feel this young.

8 October 2011
Shire on the Hudson

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God’s Tears

Something different happened when I left the office tonight. Well at least different from the previous two nights.

It was not raining. I simply note that. I am not complaining about the rain.

Places are desperate for rain. Children of God are dying, in part because of drought.

The simple reality is that for last two nights I and many other New Yorkers have made our ways home in the rain; others have endured the rain because they had to work or because they had no place to take shelter.

Tonight, it was overcast and damp when I stepped outside. But not precipitating.

This led to an interesting conversation:

When I was a child, I used to believe that the rain was God crying. That’s what my mother said. And I believed her.

Maybe, I said. We certainly give God enough reasons to cry. Look at how we treat each other, what we do to each other.

We do. We do.

We bid each other good-bye and I headed on toward the train.

And then the obvious flaw in that idea occurred to me:

If raindrops are God’s tears, it would never stop raining.

See you along the Trail.

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Living without love

Waiting in line to buy
junk food I did not need,
I was more than a bit befuddled to hear
the young clerk wonder:
“Would you rather have
love or money?”
It seemed a most out-of-place
inappropriate query to pose to
an absolute stranger who only wanted
a candy bar filled with sugar and calories
that would do me no good.
As I stood searching for
a response that seemed witty –
or someone germane –
or at least not totally inane,
she spoke again.
“‘Would you rather have
love or money?’
That’s what she asked.
And I said:
money!
Love is too stressful.”
My disorientation deepened.
Who was this mysterious woman
who posed to my clerk the question?
And what was going on?
Was she expecting a response from me?
From the guy stacking the shelves?
From someone I failed to see?
Was she practicing a soliloquy:
preparing to audition for some part
that might forever transform her life?
I’ll never know.
Silently I took my change
and stepped toward the door,
but on the way,
a thought – unsaid, but still recalled,
filled my spirit, mind, heart:
love brings stress; it’s never easy–
commitment, compromise, costs.
But what of the stress,
and what of the costs,
and what of the loss,
of the utter, empty barrenness
of living without love?

2 August 2011
Gate B-19, MDW

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Sometimes we laugh

Sometimes we laugh
because we are happy,
our laughter rings with joy.

Sometimes we laugh
because we are nervous,
our laughter cuts the edge.

Sometimes we laugh
because we are frightened,
our laughter masks our fears.

Sometimes we laugh
because we are grieving
our laughter hides our tears.

Sometimes we laugh.

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