There is no life without suffering.

The only question is which kind

You would most prefer to carry.

The answer is almost always the

Variety you do not currently possess

Because the true extent of our

Past pain is frankly forgettable.

The provision is out of our control,

To save our fragile sanity, but

It does not help us to keep sound hopes;

Not that they would consent

To be anything but irrational anyway.

Occasionally you might choose

Your present pain, but only for love,

Even a love you cannot define,

A love that refuses to fade with time.

You know nothing but that you

Want their happiness, and any

Personal suffering needed to secure it

Is a necessary evil - no, not so;

A boundless joy that brings a smile

To the eyes, that your tears of

Restraint, hopelessness, and humiliation

May water the seeds of contentment

In their heart as they sprout and bloom.

Your tears are only a fraction

Of the input, and invisible also as they

Must be to do their job effectively,

So they are universally overlooked

In favor of the soil of familiar affection

Giving the roots its grip, in favor of

The sunlight of passionate interests 

That warms the soul, in favor of

The soft touch of a sweetheart honeybee.

Yet your restraint is valuable all the more

For its lack of exaltation, for its silence.

On reason, then, causes you to

Embrace the suffering that spurns you,

That crushes you under its heel,

That puts rocks in your stomach,

Thunderclouds in your heart, and 

Cotton in your brain, unrelenting to

Your cries for a reason, a definition,

A guide of what is right and wrong

And what lies within yourself,

So that you can understand.

You embrace the suffering either

Deaf or merciless, preferring no other

Softer club or blunter blade,

Only because you know your silence

Spares them a burden, and their joy

Lights up their eyes and yours

In tandem, until you cannot wipe

The smile off your face, even as

You remember your attachment

And attunement are not reciprocated.

Their happiness is yours, and 

Your suffering fuels it.

How could you ever let that go?

"I was not a

Stranger of suffering

When I met you.

I had already had

My fair share

Of dilemmas.

But man, oh man,

Pain and promise

Radiated off you

In waves.

I had been the 

Eye of a hurricane

Before, and

How it had hurt.

Everything is frozen

In there, in

The worst way.

How I wanted

To take your hand

And shake the

Pain away, to

Watch the stillness

Flee in the 

Face of motion.

Your eyes would 

Be brighter then.

But you turned

The corner and

Were gone before

I could stop you.

I see you

Once again, so

Many years later.

Your face shines

In the mirror;

Your eyes are radiant.

Past pain outs itself

In the scars around,

But you have

Clothed yourself

In promise fulfilled.

How I long to

Know the story

Of your success.

How I long to 

Know your name.

I can

Greet you now,

As I could not

So long ago.

I have no 

Flight to catch,

And you have

No pain pulling

You away.

I will walk

Up to you

And smile at 

Your well being.

I will introduce

Myself in a murmur.

When we shake

Hands I will

Slip this envelope

Into your breast pocket.

You will look

At me oddly,

But you will

Not jerk away.

I will smile again,

Unable to force

Words forward,

Bow gently and

Walk away.

You will blink,

Perplexed, while

Reaching into your

Pocket to see what

This functioning mute

Has to say.

Then you will learn

That I missed you

Without knowing you,

That I suffer all

Stages of hurricanes

Alone, almost by choice,

But that when

I am in the eye,

I think of you,

Pray for you.

You will learn that

I am glad for you,

Proud of you,

For weathering so well.

You will learn

That I am caught in

A struggle for power

With my vocal chords,

That every day

Is frustrating and that

Some are impossible.

You will learn

That your success

Has given me hope

For mine.

(You had such promise

Behind the pain.)

Lastly, you will know

I am a stranger

To you as you

Are to me, and

We may never

See each other again,

But nevertheless

I want to thank you

For existing.

Thank you

For being a 

Strange solace

In such a

Horrid storm."

When the ashes settle,

The dust will be used to write our names,

To detail our escape,

Our breakout from below,

And the ensuing reckoning by our hand.

The dust will cake our creases, coat our hair,

Cleanse our coming into power

With the solemn swear that another reckoning

Will never be needed again.

We will do better,

Lest we, also, are burned into ashes

Before we can be reborn.

Blaring their beacons

From crest to crest,

Saturating the beaches

With bursts of yellow,

Extending digits

In crisp cyclic slices

Across the chaos

Of white-tipped waves,

Frothing waters, and

The din of raindrops

Echoing roaring thunder.

Under storms they

Fail to shatter, deftly

Deflecting crashing waves

And absorbing wild winds,

Instead, serving as a guide

In mitigating panic,

Abolishing doubt, and

Establishing stability.

Without their strength,

Ships crash;

Without their courage,

Innocents suffer;

Without their sacrifice,

The seas would be

More dangerous,

More unforgiving,

More suffocating than

They already stand.

Experienced and worldly,

Covered in the crust

Of salted sea and

Fighting toward

Their victory,

Lighthouses survive.

But when the storm

Dies down and

The repairs commence,

Lighthouses prosper.

Zip those lips.

Seal those views.

The thoughts you have

Are not the ones

They wish to pursue.

They preach open-minded-ness.

They preach think-it-through.

They say they think no less of you

If these things you do.

Maybe with strangers

These words hold true.

But with friends,

The few's thoughts divide

While the majorities' ring true.

Can you handle the heat?

I can.

I have weathered the flames

That surge shoulder high

And scrub delicate skin

Into shiny swaths of screaming red.

I have tasted the sweat

That trickles down between the eyes

And moistens the mouth

With the tangy taste of salt.

I have felt the adrenaline

Propel me forward.

I have made judgement calls

In times of distress.

I have misstepped,

But I can always right myself

And prevent any stumble

From ruining my choreographed dance

Of fire and flames,

Of sweat and perseverance

And victory.

I am strong.

I am confident.

I know I can handle the fire

When the kindling sparks

Into roaring flame.

When the time comes,

I will embrace it,

Dominate it,

And ultimately emerge victorious

Because I know

I can handle the heat.