Pain

Pain, in waves, of broken limbs,

Strings of broken shells that once held pearls, riding on the

Waves of life, eddying swirls, ebbing and flowing, glowing and surging

Up in defiance of Jove’s

Thunderous bolts,

Around the sempiternal lighthouse of

Love: the flawed animus that turns the world.

Pain is good.

Pain, of broken promises; infernal

Obligations to the waters and the blood from His riven side

Of shattered dreams,

That flowed in carmine rivers down

Mountains of skulls, over valleys of

Rattling bones,

To mingle His Passion with the

Darkest mysteries of the seven seas.

Pain is good.

Pain is in all;

In the sledgehammer crashing on baubles of transient bliss;

Pain is in the severed umbilical cord,

Entwining masses of blue infants’ stillborn songs.

Pain is in the turbulent air,

In the watery grave of lost sailors’ souls;

In the fire of the forests’ vengeance;

In the clinging earth around nimble feet!

Pain is the jeweled key to the prison locks we forge for

Our very own splendid golden cages.

Pain is good!