I pen through pain so much it seems, write on my regret
I mull my mind for cheerful lines but sometimes they’re all I get
I see the light, it’s there I know; still slightly out of reach
As I forge forward on this path to practice what I preach
Perhaps Pain is my jailer, yet it fuels so much of me
I don’t know if letting go would curse, or is the key
A Mindful Masochist lives within, saying to hold on
And looking back he’s laid this track so right, but also wrong
Such irony, this crossroad; as I write atop this bluff
Would this beauty; trees, the lake, say I’ve had enough?
Whispering to join them now; “we made all this for you”?
My heart longs naught but for a chance – to ask Her what I should do