Why do we hide from others
the weeping pain we suffer?
Defenses mound like the great wall of China
at the simplest phrase, “how are you doing”?
As if it had radiographic qualities to discern
the intrinsic fractures in our real person.
Why do we then protect the lie that we live,
and keep those whom we love at arms length?
Only to harbor the contagions of pride and independence,
the merciless pathogens of the human race?
So why is it that in our hardest times
we intend to remain opaque?
Impenetrable to the light that surrounds us?
And why on earth would we even attempt to bind
our own gaping wounds?
And why do we still grieve as if we had no hope?
We have the most solid hope, yet we grieve as though we had none.
So why do we insist on suffering with misery?
Inviting him to our front door with open arms,
downing a couple of cocktails of self-pity with him?
But when one member suffers, all the members
suffer with it.
Yet, self inflicted isolation remains the norm.