Of Sorrow Poem by James McLain

Because I am sore, I inspect all great sorrows.
Where ever you go, I must greet them.
It Is your sorrow that I tested, I measure,
using narrowly using, the eye of the needle, I strictly.
Your treasured ones I measure there weight,
and you think of it as a cloud to rain not of doubt.

Am I why, you think in doubt and doubt you think, why I am.
As for me and by the gate of your each, my one.
Feelings, I feel and such by feeling, such is old pain.
Whether or not I am hurt,
because of all that have lived and before I have lived.

And If you must and those of you, must I try.
That scar it is quick to close on none but those.
To give forth unto you the fragrance of my oil.
It is enlightened through you and I am larger than pain.

Do you grieve?
Smaller than a large number to all, see what I say.
A vision of natural air.
However perhaps,
and I do not presume this of you, it is just-sorrow.

Because you pay attention to sorrow,
our paths back and forth they must cross.
And trust how they must and must they how you trust.
Trust that I mostly and your sorrow,
it is you.
And your of one body and beings you are the bright ones.