My Pain
To love, or to be loved, what is love?
To have loved and to have been loved, which is greater?
To accept one’s fate concerning love, this is a sentence of life.
Where is peace found, when love abounds everywhere,
but the waves never touch the shore?
Can the sounds of the forest be heard in the heart of busyness?
If the busyness full of love is dispersed from the creator,
are we only fulfilling our own needs?
What of those whose love is a well of never ending supply?
Should not those that taste of that love not also return love to that well?
How deep does the well go?
When that well, is supplied by the creator of the dispensary,
that love will never run dry.
I am the dispensary and the forest, and I am the shore…
I walk in scarred peace…
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