Yes, there is suffering


Yes, there is suffering
And most of it we do not see.

And yet I wonder
how much of it we carry
by the the breath
that is the air
that is the Wind
that connects us

un-spooling itself
across Ocean’s
great span of pewter
with fin-less sharks
bleeding blood
atop its waves

catching on
Mountain’s grand granite wrapped white
with featherless birds
grounded and silent
in smoldering black

City’s concrete prisms
buzzing and sparking
then blasted to ruin
with grey ashes
a snow in September

a hungry child hums of teapots and posies
a veiled woman prays Hail Mary on wooden beads shiny as chestnuts
a tortured man begs for mercy, knowing none will come
All touched and part of the invisible Wind

We swallow the Wind
We swallow the suffering we do not see.
It is ours to bear.
And yet, we sing.

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