Such a strange standing men have to pain..
Had I been their creator,
I would be confused,
Maybe even amused,
My reproach so much greater
To see pain
Driving them the opposite way,
To see them suffer
Life to man is to hold a red hot iron bar,
And to say,
"I have to, this is sacrifice,
I must compromise,
I cannot turn away.."
Pain was created to repel from the painful,
So why do men hold so dearly
To the scalding mental cup of tea?
How can they walk with thorns through their souls,
And be pious or grateful?
Only a fool thinks misery with joy can be..
Can't they see?
The pain they endure is solemn, sterile,
A poisonous tree,
While the challenges of life
Is part of its joy, of living it sincerely..
Untie yourselves from your crucifix,
Don't make more wounds,
You are reading the book upisde down,
Abstain when it pricks..
Struggling up a mountain is not equal
To taking thorns for a gown,
You don't look pretty,
You look wrong,
You look insane,
What a pity,
No more aware what is pain...
Ask an ant,
Or see how the trees shiver when you pass them by..
Such a strange, strange standing men have to pain...