Suffering Not Required

In the morning, while I wake.

As the curtains turn from red to yellow and the teardrops of my forgotten dreams burn my sour eyes.

As my loyal wife sits up beside me, and casts her magnificent shadow upon my face as I rally myself into being.

Perhaps this time I find the courage to deliver my will into the day as I had told myself the night before.

Perhaps, or rather, time will tell - if she does respond at all.

If the senses I have come to are in fact that of my own.

If the sight my father gave me when - he gave me this sense of mine.

If each thought I conjure up as each moment turns to morrow.

If while Michelle begins her dance and leaves the carpet trodden.

There is no sense at all.

No sense in filthy pleasurescapes or memories run through.

To live, to love -

To know - 

To burn.

To ashes while we run to fear and seek the world to burn.

If clasping hands and tilted knees and love for worlds forgotten.

Sends fiery pits and quaking earths and droves of he who yearns.