Today was a holiday; or so they say;
but it seems in no way different to me;
as empty hours are gliding away;
I’ve no longer the freedom to see.
What is it I’m doing; as landscapes go by;
searching for a purpose, remaining?
Devoid of sufficient tears, to cry;
seems all I have left is complaining.
There are many who’ve need of compassion;
they feel unloved, lost, and alone;
but, all these good energies, I only ration;
to keep these thoughts as my own.
What is it about self that’s caught my eye;
is it purpose that life’s about me?
Sometimes my pain is too great to deny;
there’s nothing beyond that I see.
I’m quite willing to care for others;
not nearly so selfish as seems;
I often think of my sisters and brothers;
and hope they’ll realize their dreams.
My personal mountain is unscalable;
or, due to pain, it seems be;
my resources; once available,
no longer relate to me.
Pain comes in many sounds and colors;
but, physical pain doesn’t exist.
They’re mere thoughts that blend with others,
to require our efforts persist.
Our worst of times, are really our best;
for they serve to challenge thru strife;
compel us to rise above the test;
for in death, we discover new life.