Cry Of The Soul Poem by David Mitchell

I thought I had passed through this. Was I wrong?
I have not wept as I have wept today
For long - months, certainly; perhaps a year;
And then I was a fool - am I so still?
Have life's sharp blows not roused thee from thy stupor?
Art thou no wiser than thou wast before?
If so, why kept'st thy tears until today?
Something within me stirred, and I was breaking;
Something that I had put far deep within;
Something I started saying made me tremble;
With difficulty I held back my tears.
And then I was alone; wellsprings gush'd forth,
I cried for half an hour, and I remember'd,
Remember'd how I wept in days gone by,
Both how I felt, and what I was, remember'd;
And yet I would not go back if I could.
Or would I? If I could subtract the evils
That there were then, and are for me no more,
Perhaps I would: and yet I do not know it,
For some things are predestin'd not to be,
And some depend on things fortuitous,
One does not know how one would live a day
Again; how often does one wish one could!
Friends, family, will pass, and traverse over
The double-dreadful agony of death.

(Published Thursday,8th January,2009, written 2007 or 2008 - around the same time as 'Orthodoxy' and 'Memory', which I put up today.)