Suffering
I listen, again, as believers,
one, two, and three, sing songs
of the end of pain, of happiness,
and of generous hearts.
Meanwhile, my own suffering,
so evident and open to sight,
lays on the table between us,
ignored, without response,
undignified, and beneath contempt.
As if the thing itself was
an inconvenience, an interruption
of joy, a nuisance which slows
them from reaching their spiritual goals.
And you ask me why I excuse myself,
leaving the invisible thing
in their midst, and closing
the door, to stroll away,
through the quiet lights of dawn.
- Jon Jackson
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