Among

Among all things, love
Like all natural calamities
Among all things, stands
Alone.

Sedan Days

What beleaguers me is the shame
Of ordinary suffering. If it were
The work for books or tales
For details gruesome, I would
Enjoy it.

What does one say to the sedan
Of suffering? Common, plain, consistent...

Love pined
Work long
Pain throbbing
What boredom.

Perhaps something creative?
A beheading or a good quartering
Would spice up the story.
Then I could cast aside the steadying hand
And focus with heart on the sorrow.