Normal Poem by Brian Taylor

Pain is in proportion to livingness.
The more alive you are,
the more it hurts
to live.
This is normal.

The young hurt most
but mend quickest.
New flesh heals
where old flesh withers.
Young mind feels
pain piercing and deep;
often so deep that of itself it heals;
a child that cries itself to sleep,
cries and forgets in eternal singing.
This too is normal.

Until clinging
enters the heart,
laying up the treasure
of its tears
to be disinterred in later years,
repented at unwanted leisure.
And this is normal.

The prophet said:
“I will give you life more abundant.”
His shadow added:
“And more abundant pain to go with it.”
Quite normal.

Amidst so much normality
the pain is what shines through,
making a mere formality
of what you think you want to do.

Grasping out and feeling pain.

Letting go and letting heal again.
See where the yellow banner is unfurled:
“All is for the Norm
in this most normal of all possible worlds.”