when other kinds of pain
begin to show up like old abandoned treasures,
biting into the flesh of your soul’s melting mass.
The blood will course
through poisoned veins
that stand out on a cold winter’s day,
reminders of aches spewing its venom,
cold burns leaving marks
that scour for attention and get it.
The smoke will course
through jarred passages of lungs
that have soaked up the tar
and rendered you breathless
while you survived the assault
of memories’ thirsty domination.
The levelling field of your perception
will dance upon these agonizing moments,
another hour or so,
crushing the depth of despair
and emerging to see
how worthless such moments of agony are
when you see
the losses that you have had
were somebody’s gain.
We all measure up in life’s scale,
much of evil in much of good,
much of good in much of evil
and the hungry two,
will vie for attention,
each wanting to grow.
What do you feed?