How long can we tell ourselves, “This pain is beautiful, this cross a blessing, this torture a wedding”?
Is there somewhere a pain so true and purely agonizing that we cannot drown its physical throbbing in psychological feeling?
Is there a hurt so big that we cannot mentally dispel every negative intonation?
A striking so terrible to defeat human emotion?
How long can we dance on blistered feet, telling ourselves
“I am the swan, I am the swan, I am the lake, I am the wind”
How far can we run with a grimace, wheezing
“Hurt, heart, hurt, heart”, stone hail a machine gun pelting the soles of our feet

Where does one go when all that’s left is shredded hands, blackened bones,stripped veins?
Where to find solace when all that is left is a winnowing, blurred bleak but barely...hope?

Find that burning inside you, they tell us, find the flame through flogging, though flickering,
The fire, it’s there, they tell us, if you listen, you can hear its lonesome crackling
It does not sound like home or warmth or comfort
But it burns of passion and triumph and life
Over pain
Over death
Feel the fire, listen to its angry voice, soothing with its envy for our souls and our breath
Grasp that burning, hold its yearning, there is triumph over death
There is triumph over death
Let go of breath
Grab for life
And leap