Passing On Pain To The Next One In Line 5.17.2008 Poem by Margaret Alice

Pain is a strange companion, according to Charlotte
Bronte pain is a scorpion to be squeezed in the hand
until it goes numb so as to deaden the pain that does
not go away by itself

Doesn’t matter how I order my life, I have to traverse
cycles of pain, for energy we have to eat, when I eat
I am ill, when I don’t the pain goes away, as well as
the power to survive

Balancing between waxing and waning cycles of pain,
we chose our lives before we were born, my soul chose
suffering to understand life, the pain of people who seem
so arrogant

But underneath hearts are burning with feelings aflame,
emotions sprouting from scarring thoughts destroying
perspective and life, bewildered eyes chilling my soul,
hardened mouths

Turned into stone, ostensibly people are active and happy,
but underneath they are shrinking away, assigning blame in
loathing of self and rejection of life, seeking compensation in
passing on pain

To the next one in line…