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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required *** RATE THE BATTLE *** Rate your pain, they always want to know, On a scale of one (least) to ten (worst — “like hell,” they say), Although, I think, that should be reversed, because at One, first, this pain is anguishing; wanting to be foremost; Rooted under everything. I see a numbered One level pain as insipid, blocking out life — Like an iceberg Able to sink a ship; with there being One, only one way eyes feel when popping out from such pain; One level of invasive emotional or physical pain that Makes the soul groan and The lips try to repeatedly keep their shortened breaths Whispering, “Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy. Lord…” At One, or Ten (by their scale again now), I refuse To imagine even a peek into hell. I refuse to walk on a bed of flaming embers. Blut, at Nine, I might lay bare on a bed of unpolished, sharply-cut lapis, Trying to picture some promise of miraculous beauty Underlying the monstrous pain. A Nine would keep me in a self-induced trance of complete Stillness, Holding my breath, before I’d let it consume all my humor; and I’d try, yet again, to find praises in the suffering; Wherein, too, Faith in God can bring the strength and hope To survive the scales of pain In favor of the whole spirit’s long on-going, Felt rise in gratitude. (Deut. 9: 1-3) ————————————————————————————- (c) sally young eslinger 12/10/2022 Thanks be to God…
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