The Pain of the Living

By Troy A. Johnson

PROMPT—No one noticed ...

Dreary was the day, as was every day—

Hidden was my joy, a muted survivors joy

Relentless was time, it left me beaten and bruised

Memories ran rampant through my mind

They left holes where self love used to be


Today was a good day, like someone used to say

Woke up smiling and ready for the day

I made it halfway through before I thought it odd

Took a walk to the beach, which I never do

Sat down on a nice rock and inhaled the salt air

I felt content and at peace, it reminded me of

Someone I used to know, someone lost long ago


The very next day, I opened my eyes up and at ‘em

As they say, but this dark feeling came over me,

I said uh oh, some days you wake up and you don’t

Know what you don’t know, climbing out of a hole is

Hard work, when you feel the world has greased

The sides, so you trudge along and keep God in

Your heart, and hopefully on your side


The Pain of the Living is the second greatest pain,

But Death in not the first, life defining tragedies are

Surly the worse curse, not all have the wherewithal

To weather their greatest storms. We pass them

Lying on the street with a bottle in their hand, you

Think if that was me, I’d rather be dead, the wiser still

Think, there but for the Grace of God. Remember this,


The Pain of the Living leaves souls rising above just

Blowing in the wind, still attached but fighting very hard

To reenter within, the real battle, as hard as it is to really

Understand, is for Man to truly have empathy for his

Fellow Man, with love and grace blessed from up above

The Pain of the Living can be helped with empathy and love.

 

T. A. Johnson has always referred to himself as a Scribbler, a scribble here, a scribble there kinda guy, nothing too fancy, just what he calls 'Matter of fact Poetry' and stories that tickle his fancy. He values his family over all, and as a man that has lost a child, that opening of an unhealable wound has colored his work for many years. T. A. Johnson likes to say, 'I'm just an ordinary guy, spinning an ordinary yarn.' He writes from Long Beach, California.