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.
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