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