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I'm surrounded by suffering: yet, who laughs?

Costel Zăgan in Inventeme
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The happy household

It's when the birds go piping and the daylight slowly breaks,
That, clamoring for his dinner, our precious baby wakes;
Then it's sleep no more for baby, and it's sleep no more for me,
For, when he wants his dinner, why it's dinner it must be!
And of that lacteal fluid he partakes with great ado,
While gran'ma laughs,
And gran'pa laughs,
And wife, she laughs,
And I - well, I laugh, too!

You'd think, to see us carrying on about that little tad,
That, like as not, that baby was the first we'd ever had;
But, sakes alive! he isn't, yet we people make a fuss
As if the only baby in the world had come to us!
And, morning, noon, and night-time, whatever he may do,
Gran'ma, she laughs,
Gran'pa, he laughs,
Wife, she laughs,
And I, of course, laugh, too!

But once - a likely spell ago - when that poor little chick
From teething or from some such ill of infancy fell sick,
You wouldn't know us people as the same that went about
A-feelin' good all over, just to hear him crow and shout;
And, though the doctor poohed our fears and said he'd pull him through,
Old gran'ma cried,
And gran'pa cried,
And wife, she cried,
And I - yes, I cried, too!

It makes us all feel good to have a baby on the place,
With his everlastin' crowing and his dimpling, dumpling face;
The patter of his pinky feet makes music everywhere,
And when he shakes those fists of his, good-by to every care!
No matter what our trouble is, when he begins to coo,
Old gran'ma laughs,
And gran'pa laughs,
Wife, she laughs,
And I - you bet, I laugh, too!

poem by Eugene Field
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Our last Swim (R.I.P. Anne Mary Simon)

Our last Swim
By Renee’
For my beloved Anne Mary Simon

An Image of you in a cloud rolls by
The sky opens up, somewhere in my mind
A vision of you in a pale blue dress
Tears falling down, you took my breath
Memories of you...

Rain will always hide these tears in my eyes
When the thunder laughs my soul will die
Will I hear your voice?
Will I touch your skin?
Will the ocean waves let me in?

The time is near, the time is nigh
To answer the call, to answer the cry
My head still spins, my body aches
The wind stings my eyes, my face
I look around, no one’s there
Will anybody notice, will anyone care...

Rain will always hide these tears in my eyes
When the thunder laughs my soul will die
Will I hear your voice?
Will I touch your skin?
Will the ocean waves let me in?

I sit on this beach, your beach
I see the waves roll in endlessly
I hold you tight against my bosom
Tears fill my eyes as I see you running into the ocean
You are laughing and so happy
Memories of you...

Rain will always hide these tears in my eyes
When the thunder laughs my soul will die
Will I hear your voice?
Will I touch your skin?
Will the ocean waves let me in?

It’s time to take our final swim
My eyes fill with tears
I can’t move, but I must
You are waiting for me
My legs ache, my body is frozen
You are calling me, “come swim Renee’ “
Memories of you…

[...] Read more

poem by Renee' Stretch
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Suffering

I heard about your happiness
And all the plans that youre involved in
Since youre gone youd be impressed
To know i, too, have been evolving
But I dont think you comprehend
Ive been suffering
Yeah, Ive been suffering
Guess Ill be suffering up around the bend
This love is a cancer in me
I can feel it advancing in me
This fire it is my light in the world
Well, I found me a new friend
Ive been suffering
Yeah, Ive been suffering
Guess Ill be suffering up around the bend
I hung around in a leather bar
They threw me on the cement
Slept all night in my plastic car
Got in an accident
I brushed by you in the supermart
And I had me a touch of whats real
It was real when you crushed me with your steel
Black clouds roll through my mind
Who says anyway these halls are sovereign?
I am a hater of the human kind
So keep away, this hearts not softening
No, I dont think that its the end of this suffering
Yeah, Ive been suffering
Ive been suffering
Ive been suffering
And Ill be suffering up around the bend

song performed by Frank Black
Added by Lucian Velea
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Conscious Bond of Universal Suffering and The Coming Opus Love Overflow!

The Human bond of earthly suffering
Suffering earthly bondage of the body
The human suffering and earthly bondage
caused by the love filtering psyche!

Nothing bonds like human suffering
nothing damages love more than the suffers of desire
No suffering as human as the desire to be loved!

The fact remains universal:
all on earth who succumb to the power
creating human suffering
possess still the human power of transcending

So tell me who's suffering this day
or any day?
Who needs an arm, a hug,
a warm home cooked meal?
Who else needs to feel the warmth of a breathing body
during those quiet solitaire coffin hours of the night?
Who has not a bed to sleep?
Nor roof overhead to protect from the impending storm?
Who else senses the overwhelming lack of human compassion?

Who's ready for the opus love overflow!

For you are just as ready as I!
And I as ready as he or she!
They as open and prepared to receive as we!
Together, all exchanging our love
indiscriminate and Free!

Oh for everyone to experience each day
the way the cherry trees receive summer and spring!

When you recognize the indistinct face of beauty
you shall become the mirror of eternity!
Fashion age race sex weight
these are inconsequential to beauty's eyes!

When true love is realized
one receives nothing further or less in return!
For love, pure and essential is the only return!

To love undeterred and undivided is to love with the soul!
When you love with the soul
there remains not a soul on earth or any sphere beyond
can not help but fall in love with you!

Alleviation Human Connection!

[...] Read more

poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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Saturated In a Marination

'It's a devastating thing...
For one who chooses to think,
And surrounded by mindless human beings! '

Ignorance for what it is,
Is a most difficult thing...
For one to overcome!
Not everyone can resist this pull.
Not all are prone,
To sit alone in isolation.
To satisfy a thinking sensation!

'It's a devastating thing...
For one who chooses to think,
And surrounded by mindless human beings! '

And that's what it takes,
To break from the commonness of it!

Ignorance can be comforting.
Especially when so many,
Have been bred and born to feed on it.
Saturated in a marination...
Seeped with ingredients,
That produce clowns to fool around.
Displaying condoned qualities of misfits.

'It's a devastating thing...
For one who chooses to think,
And surrounded by mindless human beings! '

Is it an illness...
Ever to be cured?
And chased away from its endurance?
Ever to be blocked and knock out...
Never to regain a need for it to remain unchanged?

'It's a devastating thing...
For one who chooses to think,
And surrounded by mindless human beings! '

Ignorance can not be that deep of an affliction!
Why is it so craved?
Why is it chosen...
To wallow in and stay?

'It's a devastating thing...
For one who chooses to think,
And surrounded by mindless human beings! '

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Loch Katrine

Beautiful Loch Katrine in all thy majesty so grand,
Oh! how charming and fascinating is thy silver strand!
Thou certainly art most lovely, and worthy to be seen,
Especially thy beautiful bay and shrubberies green.

Then away to Loch Katrine in the summer time,
And feast on its scenery most lovely and sublime;
There's no other scene can surpass in fair Scotland,
It's surrounded by mountains and trees most grand.
And as I gaze upon it, let me pause and think,
How many people in Glasgow of its water drink,
That's conveyed to them in pipes from its placid lake,
And are glad to get its water their thirst to slake.

Then away to Loch Katrine in the summer time,
And feast on its scenery most lovely and sublime;
There's no other scene can surpass in fair Scotland,
It's surrounded by mountains and trees most grand.
The mountains on either side of it are beautiful to be seen,
Likewise the steamers sailing on it with their clouds of steam:
And their shadows on its crystal waters as they pass along,
Is enough to make the tourist burst into song.

Then away to Loch Katrine in the summer time,
And feast on its scenery most lovely and sublime;
There's no other scene can surpass in fair Scotland,
It's surrounded by mountains and trees most grand.
'Tis beautiful to see its tiny wimpling rills,
And the placid Loch in the hollow of a circle of hills,
Glittering like silver in the sun's bright array,
Also many a promontory, little creek, and bay.

Then away to Loch Katrine in the summer time,
And feast on its scenery most lovely and sublime;
There's no other scene can surpass in fair Scotland,
It's surrounded by mountains and trees most grand.
Then to the east there's the finely wooded Ellen's Isle,
There the tourist can the tedious hours beguile,
As he gazes on its white gravelled beautiful bay,
It will help to drive dull care away.

Then away to Loch Katrine in the summer time,
And feast on its scenery most lovely and sublime;
There's no other scene can surpass in fair Scotland,
It's surrounded by mountains and trees most grand.
The mountains Ben-An and Ben-Venue are really very grand
Likewise the famous and clear silver strand;
Where the bold Rob Roy spent many a happy day,
With his faithful wife, near by its silvery bay.

[...] Read more

poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Last Thing You Should Do (feat. Robert Smith)

What have you been doing to yourself
What have you been doing to yourself
What have you been doing to yourself
It's the last thing you should do-oh-oh-oh-oh
Nobody laughs any more
Nobody laughs any more
Nobody laughs any more
It's the worst thing you can do-oh-oh-oh-oh
Save the last dance for me
Catch the last bus with me
Give the last kiss to me
It's the safest thing to do-oh-oh-oh-oh
Yeah!
Yeah!
What have you been doing to yourself
What have you been doing to yourself
What have you been doing to yourself
It's the last thing you should do-oh-oh-oh-oh
Nobody laughs any more
Nobody laughs any more
Nobody laughs any more
It's the worst thing you can do-oh-oh-oh-oh
Save the last dance with me
Catch the last bus with me
Give the last kiss to me
It's the safest thing to do-oh-oh-oh-oh
Yeah!
Yeah!
Yeah!
Yeah!
Yeah!
Yeah!

song performed by David Bowie
Added by Lucian Velea
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Can't Repeat

I woke the other day
I woke the other day
And saw my world has changed
And saw my world has changed
The past is over but tomorrow's wishful thinking
The past is over but tomorrow's wishful thinking
I can't hold onto what's been done
I can't hold onto what's been done
I can't grab onto what's to come
I can't grab onto what's to come
And I'm just wishing I could stop, but
And I'm just wishing I could stop, but
Life goes on
Life goes on
Come of age
Come of age
Can't hold on
Can't hold on
Turn the page
Turn the page
Time rolls on
Time rolls on
Wipe these eyes
Wipe these eyes
Yesterday laughs
Yesterday laughs
Tomorrow cries
Tomorrow cries
Memories are bittersweet
Memories are bittersweet
The good times we can't repeat
The good times we can't repeat
Those days are gone and we can never get them back
Those days are gone and we can never get them back
Now we must move ahead
Now we must move ahead
Despite our fear and dread
Despite our fear and dread
We're all just wishing we could stop, but
We're all just wishing we could stop, but
Life goes on
Life goes on
Come of age
Come of age
Can't hold on
Can't hold on
Turn the page
Turn the page
Time rolls on
Time rolls on

[...] Read more

song performed by Offspring
Added by Lucian Velea
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I'm Ready To Go.

I'm ready to go.
Take me to heaven.
I'm ready to go.
End my suffering.
I'm ready to go.
Let me stop all this blubbering.

I can't help anyone.
Wish I could.
The grave of the good.
As much as I need to know whats not understood.
Conclusions so sour sometime I wish you would.

I'm ready to go.
Take me to heaven.
I'm ready to go.
End my suffering.
I'm ready to go.
Let me stop all this blubbering.

I've look into the abyss so many times before.
This time their is no going back.
Me and the angel of the death have a contract.
With blood as the ink it has been signed and sealed.
I'm sorry but I no longer want to feel.

I'm ready to go.
Take me to heaven.
I'm ready to go.
End my suffering.
I'm ready to go.
Let me stop all this blubbering.

My emotions ride me like a hound.
Biting at my heels.
A heart that isn't real.
Watch as another layer of skin I peel.
I stand then kneel.

I'm ready to go.
Take me to heaven.
I'm ready to go.
End my suffering.
I'm ready to go.
Let me stop all this blubbering.

Wishing for something I can never have.
Denied the right as stars shoot across the twilight.
Beating myself up on the inside.
I'm so ready to so ready to die.

[...] Read more

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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The Hind And The Panther, A Poem In Three Parts : Part III.

Much malice, mingled with a little wit,
Perhaps may censure this mysterious writ;
Because the muse has peopled Caledon
With panthers, bears, and wolves, and beasts unknown,
As if we were not stocked with monsters of our own.
Let Æsop answer, who has set to view
Such kinds as Greece and Phrygia never knew;
And Mother Hubbard, in her homely dress,
Has sharply blamed a British lioness;
That queen, whose feast the factious rabble keep,
Exposed obscenely naked, and asleep.
Led by those great examples, may not I
The wonted organs of their words supply?
If men transact like brutes, 'tis equal then
For brutes to claim the privilege of men.
Others our Hind of folly will indite,
To entertain a dangerous guest by night.
Let those remember, that she cannot die,
Till rolling time is lost in round eternity;
Nor need she fear the Panther, though untamed,
Because the Lion's peace was now proclaimed;
The wary savage would not give offence,
To forfeit the protection of her prince;
But watched the time her vengeance to complete,
When all her furry sons in frequent senate met;
Meanwhile she quenched her fury at the flood,
And with a lenten salad cooled her blood.
Their commons, though but coarse, were nothing scant,
Nor did their minds an equal banquet want.
For now the Hind, whose noble nature strove
To express her plain simplicity of love,
Did all the honours of her house so well,
No sharp debates disturbed the friendly meal.
She turned the talk, avoiding that extreme,
To common dangers past, a sadly-pleasing theme;
Remembering every storm which tossed the state,
When both were objects of the public hate,
And dropt a tear betwixt for her own children's fate.
Nor failed she then a full review to make
Of what the Panther suffered for her sake;
Her lost esteem, her truth, her loyal care,
Her faith unshaken to an exiled heir,
Her strength to endure, her courage to defy,
Her choice of honourable infamy.
On these, prolixly thankful, she enlarged;
Then with acknowledgments herself she charged;
For friendship, of itself an holy tie,
Is made more sacred by adversity.
Now should they part, malicious tongues would say,
They met like chance companions on the way,

[...] Read more

poem by John Dryden
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Comprehension...Or Torment

No one knows,
When we suffer.
Or how it is we suffer,
When suffering comes and is done...
By anyone

No one knows the extent of it.
How deep what is felt.
And when those sorrows visit to sit.

Although folks give advice and instructions.
With sections of pamphlets,
To read by professionals.
To emphasize their recommendations,
Underlined in 'red'.
Suggestions researched...
To read and ease our minds,
Before going to bed!
Hopefully not to stay awake...
To pace the floor instead.

No one knows,
When we suffer.
Or how it is we suffer,
When suffering comes and is done...
By anyone.

When suffering comes.
And alone it is done!

And listening to someone say to us to pray...
Is not a cure all or remedy,
That takes our suffering to numb quickly away.

But...
Pray we must,
And trust...
That those burdens carried,
Will be lifted up and away from us.
Knowing in our hearts...
God watches and will do His part!

No one knows,
When we suffer.
Or how it is we suffer,
When suffering comes and is done....
By anyone.

When suffering comes.
And alone it is done!

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Quintet of Revelations

Part 1: The Mystic Man

In the beginning
The world was a dark colorless wasteland
Lightning littered the sky in dark clouds
A mystical being creates life surrounded by shroud

The Mystic Man makes light
The Mystic Man makes night
The Mystic Man makes wrong
The Mystic Man makes right
The world is now surrounded by light and night

Lightning strikes fertile soil creating plants
Green is the first color created by the Mystic Man
Drawing a bone from his ribs he makes man
The world is growing surrounded by light and night

The Mystic Man commands the man
Showing him how to use the land
Which was made by the Mystic Man
The Mystic Man lets the man understand
How to use his holy land

Finally the man understands
And is granted a woman by the Mystic Man
A woman to help him take care of the land
The land that was shaped by the Mystic Man

Together the woman and the man
Take care of the Mystic Man’s holy land
In peace and prosperity they use the land
To make a great family
The beginning of man

For two hundred years
They farmed that land
The land formed by the Mystic Man
They found the first civilization of man

Part 2: The Man of Darkness

Ten thousand years
After the first woman and man
And the making of the land by the Mystic Man
A Man of Darkness rises from the depths
To spread terror and fear to mortal man

This Man of Darkness has no mercy
This Man of Darkness has no love

[...] Read more

poem by Alex Fischer
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The Man

There's A Man
Who Plays The Game Of Life So Well
There's Such A Man
His Thoughts You Can Never Tell
And It's Just The Way He Thought It Would Be
'Cause The Day Has Come For Him To Be Free
Then He Laughs, He Kicks And Rolls Up His Sleeves
I'm Alive And I'm Here Forever
This Is The Man
There's A Man
Everybody Thought They Knew
There's Such A Man
He's Not Like Me And You
And It's Just The Way She Thought It Would Be
As He Says, Something Has Happened To Me
Then He Laughs, He Kicks And Rolls Up His Sleeves
I'm Alive And I'm Here Forever
This Is The Man
And It's Just The Way He Thought It Would Be
'Cause The Day Has Come For Him To Be Free
Then He Laughs, He Kicks And Rolls Up His Sleeves
I'm Alive And I'm Here Forever
This Is The Man
Did You Know - This Man Can Do Anything?
There's Such A Man
I Wish That We Could Bring
And It's Just The Way He Thought It Would Be
'Cause The Day Has Come For Him To Be Free
Then He Laughs, He Kicks And Rolls Up His Sleeves
I'm Alive And I'm Here Forever
This Is The Man
There's A Man
Everybody Thought They Knew
There's Such A Man
He's Not Like Me And You
And It's Just The Way She Thought It Would Be
As He Says, Something Has Happened To Me
Then He Laughs, He Kicks And Rolls Up His Sleeves
I'm Alive And I'm Here Forever
This Is The Man
This Is The Man
This Is The Man
This Is The Man

song performed by Paul McCartney
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Man By

Theres a man
Who plays the game of life so well
Theres such a man
His thoughts you can never tell
And its just the way he thought it would be
cause the day has come for him to be free
Then he laughs, he kicks and rolls up his sleeves
Im alive and Im here forever
This is the man
Theres a man
Everybody thought they knew
Theres such a man
Hes not like me and you
And its just the way she thought it would be
As he says, something has happened to me
Then he laughs, he kicks and rolls up his sleeves
Im alive and Im here forever
This is the man
And its just the way he thought it would be
cause the day has come for him to be free
Then he laughs, he kicks and rolls up his sleeves
Im alive and Im here forever
This is the man
Did you know - this man can do anything?
Theres such a man
I wish that we could bring
And its just the way he thought it would be
cause the day has come for him to be free
Then he laughs, he kicks and rolls up his sleeves
Im alive and Im here forever
This is the man
Theres a man
Everybody thought they knew
Theres such a man
Hes not like me and you
And its just the way she thought it would be
As he says, something has happened to me
Then he laughs, he kicks and rolls up his sleeves
Im alive and Im here forever
This is the man
This is the man
This is the man
This is the man

song performed by Paul McCartney
Added by Lucian Velea
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Canto the Ninth

I
Oh, Wellington! (or "Villainton" -- for Fame
Sounds the heroic syllables both ways;
France could not even conquer your great name,
But punn'd it down to this facetious phrase --
Beating or beaten she will laugh the same),
You have obtain'd great pensions and much praise:
Glory like yours should any dare gainsay,
Humanity would rise, and thunder "Nay!"

II
I don't think that you used Kinnaird quite well
In Marinet's affair -- in fact, 't was shabby,
And like some other things won't do to tell
Upon your tomb in Westminster's old abbey.
Upon the rest 't is not worth while to dwell,
Such tales being for the tea-hours of some tabby;
But though your years as man tend fast to zero,
In fact your grace is still but a young hero.

III
Though Britain owes (and pays you too) so much,
Yet Europe doubtless owes you greatly more:
You have repair'd Legitimacy's crutch,
A prop not quite so certain as before:
The Spanish, and the French, as well as Dutch,
Have seen, and felt, how strongly you restore;
And Waterloo has made the world your debtor
(I wish your bards would sing it rather better).

IV
You are "the best of cut-throats:" -- do not start;
The phrase is Shakspeare's, and not misapplied:
War's a brain-spattering, windpipe-slitting art,
Unless her cause by right be sanctified.
If you have acted once a generous part,
The world, not the world's masters, will decide,
And I shall be delighted to learn who,
Save you and yours, have gain'd by Waterloo?

V
I am no flatterer -- you've supp'd full of flattery:
They say you like it too -- 't is no great wonder.
He whose whole life has been assault and battery,
At last may get a little tired of thunder;
And swallowing eulogy much more than satire, he
May like being praised for every lucky blunder,
Call'd "Saviour of the Nations" -- not yet saved,
And "Europe's Liberator" -- still enslaved.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
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Don Juan: Canto The Ninth

Oh, Wellington! (or 'Villainton'--for Fame
Sounds the heroic syllables both ways;
France could not even conquer your great name,
But punn'd it down to this facetious phrase-
Beating or beaten she will laugh the same),
You have obtain'd great pensions and much praise:
Glory like yours should any dare gainsay,
Humanity would rise, and thunder 'Nay!'

I don't think that you used Kinnaird quite well
In Marinet's affair--in fact, 'twas shabby,
And like some other things won't do to tell
Upon your tomb in Westminster's old abbey.
Upon the rest 'tis not worth while to dwell,
Such tales being for the tea-hours of some tabby;
But though your years as man tend fast to zero,
In fact your grace is still but a young hero.

Though Britain owes (and pays you too) so much,
Yet Europe doubtless owes you greatly more:
You have repair'd Legitimacy's crutch,
A prop not quite so certain as before:
The Spanish, and the French, as well as Dutch,
Have seen, and felt, how strongly you restore;
And Waterloo has made the world your debtor
(I wish your bards would sing it rather better).

You are 'the best of cut-throats:'--do not start;
The phrase is Shakspeare's, and not misapplied:
War's a brain-spattering, windpipe-slitting art,
Unless her cause by right be sanctified.
If you have acted once a generous part,
The world, not the world's masters, will decide,
And I shall be delighted to learn who,
Save you and yours, have gain'd by Waterloo?

I am no flatterer- you 've supp'd full of flattery:
They say you like it too- 't is no great wonder.
He whose whole life has been assault and battery,
At last may get a little tired of thunder;
And swallowing eulogy much more than satire, he
May like being praised for every lucky blunder,
Call'd 'Saviour of the Nations'--not yet saved,
And 'Europe's Liberator'--still enslaved.

I've done. Now go and dine from off the plate
Presented by the Prince of the Brazils,
And send the sentinel before your gate
A slice or two from your luxurious meals:
He fought, but has not fed so well of late.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
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Always Suffering

Let's take a walk
Just you and me
And talk of days gone by
Across the fields
Under the trees
Let's speak of you and I

While the whole world
Was wandering
We walked a steady line
When all our friends
Were wavering
We kept on trying

Now we're always suffering
Already lost
Always suffering
Already lost

Remember when
On summer days
I would sing a lovers son
How you would smile
Shower me with praise
And the sun shined on

Now the rain is falling slow
And the nights grow long
And the train
Cries out so hauntingly
She is gone

Now we're always suffering
Already lost
We're always suffering
Already lost

Please take these flowers
Smell the perfume
Let your soul come alive
Let there be hope
Hope in your heart
That our love may revive

For life is but a chance
On a wind swept hill
And the seeds of love
Are swirling above
Let them be still

[...] Read more

song performed by Rolling Stones from Bridges To Babylon
Added by Lucian Velea
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Madraykin

(K.J.Garside)
Let not your hold be so tight,
She'll return in the morning,
If you give her the night.
Madraykin is she suffering?
Is she suffering?
Madraykin is she suffering?
Revealing her birthmark you cast out her eye,
Clipped are the wings of the angels sighs,
Revealing her birthmark you put out her tongue,
Clipped are the wings of the fairies who run.
Madraykin is she suffering?
Is she suffering?
Madraykin is she suffering?
How deep does she weep in your well of unkeep,
The kiss of Madraykin will keep you from sleep.
Keep you from sleep,
Keep you from sleep,
Keep you from sleep,
Keep you from sleep.

song performed by Queen Adreena
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Ancient Banner

In boundless mercy, the Redeemer left,
The bosom of his Father, and assumed
A servant's form, though he had reigned a king,
In realms of glory, ere the worlds were made,
Or the creating words, 'Let there be light'
In heaven were uttered. But though veiled in flesh,
His Deity and his Omnipotence,
Were manifest in miracles. Disease
Fled at his bidding, and the buried dead
Rose from the sepulchre, reanimate,
At his command, or, on the passing bier
Sat upright, when he touched it. But he came,
Not for this only, but to introduce
A glorious dispensation, in the place
Of types and shadows of the Jewish code.
Upon the mount, and round Jerusalem,
He taught a purer, and a holier law,—
His everlasting Gospel, which is yet
To fill the earth with gladness; for all climes
Shall feel its influence, and shall own its power.
He came to suffer, as a sacrifice
Acceptable to God. The sins of all
Were laid upon Him, when in agony
He bowed upon the cross. The temple's veil
Was rent asunder, and the mighty rocks,
Trembled, as the incarnate Deity,
By his atoning blood, opened that door,
Through which the soul, can have communion with
Its great Creator; and when purified,
From all defilements, find acceptance too,
Where it can finally partake of all
The joys of His salvation.
But the pure Church he planted,—the pure Church
Which his apostles watered,—and for which,
The blood of countless martyrs freely flowed,
In Roman Amphitheatres,—on racks,—
And in the dungeon's gloom,—this blessed Church,
Which grew in suffering, when it overspread
Surrounding nations, lost its purity.
Its truth was hidden, and its light obscured
By gross corruption, and idolatry.
As things of worship, it had images,
And even painted canvas was adored.
It had a head and bishop, but this head
Was not the Saviour, but the Pope of Rome.
Religion was a traffic. Men defiled,
Professed to pardon sin, and even sell,
The joys of heaven for money,—and to raise
Souls out of darkness to eternal light,
For paltry silver lavished upon them.

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poem by Anonymous Americas
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However We Embrace It Intimately To Humanize It

However we embrace it intimately to humanize it
and make it ours, ingratiate it into our hearts and minds,
to understand it, and through understanding befriend it,
suffering remains impersonal, oblivious to tenderness,
faceless, a dragon without compassion for our appeals.
As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods:
they kill us for their sport. Shakespeare. But suffering
is not what we think about it, not the way we feel,
or the little human why of the fact that it exists at all
we shriek into the unlistening abyss, or keep to ourselves
and cry behind whatever lifemasks we care to put on it
as if it were happening to someone else we didn't recognize.
These are my eyes and they're weeping blood.
This is my mouth but the tongue's been torn out
like the flame of a black candle at a mass for the mute.
And the holy men say suffering purifies. The poet
makes something transformatively creative out of it
as if he had a reptile for a muse that can shapeshift
all around him like a caduceus but doesn't cure his ills
however he try to dull the pain with an anodyne of symbols.

Two women electrocuted in a pool of water running
to rescue a woman in a car on fire that's just
brought down a powerline like a cobra from a branch.
The noisy bliss of a school bus smashed at a train crossing
like a beer can in a drunken fist that spares no one,
regardless of age, innocence, karma or the satin in the coffins
to prove that heaven's a better place than this one
where all we ever see is bloodstains on favourite cotton dresses
little girls with ribbons in their hair are killed in every day.
I've opened myself up to the suffering of others
and I've seen the waterlilies of compassion
gaping at the stars as if waiting for an explanation
that would make it all beautiful and sane again.
I've seen friends go methodically mad trying
to gnaw through the glass lenses of the telescopic eyes
they feel they're caged in like a spider mount
or a live rat in an aquarium with an exotic trophy snake
blunting the bullet of its head off the walls
until one of the ricochets strikes its exhausted mark.
One man's agony is the way another makes up for
a personality deficiency by enjoying the kill.
Thirty dead wolves in a pick-up truck culled
by two redneck goofs with egos like guns
to protect the cattle on their way to the abattoir.

And when I drove cab, every morning from six
until noon when even the shadows had to turn away,
I was amazed at how many sick and injured people,
young and old, I drove to the hospital as if there were a war

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poem by Patrick White
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