Obstructions
Unlike the sands in the hourglass
So aren't the days of our lives
Pains, misdoings, ignorant rages clutter
The narrow tube of spectrum for life we have
God's gifts given to us in love
Are stolen, shattered, and forgotten in lust
Lust for the flesh, lust for possession
None ask the blind man to see, the deaf to hear
But demand the lonely to be happy
Be content, carry on as if no obstructions
Lie in the way keeping them from
Joy, bliss, unaltered perfect peace
But sands clutter and cling together
Inseparably like a diamond in some ways
Impossible to keep together like two positive ions
So why do you try the impossible
Do you find pleasure in the intense pain
Get enjoyment from the suffering yourself
And more oddly and wrongly, others
Or can you just not feel it any more
You know it hurts, you've felt it many times
But your pains are different from any others
If they tell you hurts, you hurt them differently
Not always on purpose, in fact rarely on purpose
But the pain exists, the pain is present
The only question is
Will you ever be loved, feel loved
Without hurting yourself or others
back home
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Early Poems