“Oh, how life tortures! How dark it can be, no light at all. Dark, dark, dark! And through it I grip, pulled by a roped car over gravel, screaming for this to stop, seized up and only waiting for this to be over. Sometimes this is too much effort to bear. Needles, oh, the needles in my head. Is there no sparing of pain; have I not earned some relief by now? Jesus Christ!”
And so it was like that, at times….but the answers always came; the dawn always arrived and revealed the work of the storm, the ground washed, scorched, seared. And this was his life, his story, his poetry, and he knew it would always be this way.
Constant Voice 