I can still endure the minutes, fix the time, and set the limits
Where there was no pain but cold, slow pain.
If I sought some hope to borrow from a hint of a tomorrow,
It brought pain again, pain again, and pain.
It caught me, held me, ruled me and eventually it schooled me,
And I hardened growing harder than a gem.
It bred not love, not feeling, taught me hurt not healing,
A tattered sigh, a dirge, my only hymn.
Relief, so disregarded, creeping in softly rewarded,
The hurt, the pain, the feeling and the sigh.
But there was no joy in ending, the wounds so deep not mending,
And to say it comes no more would be a lie.
Copyright © Guy McClung 2016