The sun that shines on sorrow 
creates shadows for to hide

within, as we conduct ourselves
with as much broken pride

as love and life betoken, in
this world of hurt and woe:

but we are led by carelessness,
and what we do not know.

Through burning days and stinging nights,
our pure intention melts;

there’s those who see the grieving, and
the rest see something else,

in disproportion we receive
the gifts we never sought,

in lives ensconced in carelessness
and led by lack of thought.

We see, at last, that all of that
leads to this whelming silence:
where even breathing in again
feels like an act

of violence

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