Like a soft breeze that, barely there, sifts the papers on my table.
A window, open, and the curtains move gently.
A memory, that should not have been there.
An emotion that barely acknowledged should have known better.
Some serious men dissected my emotions.
An existence that, in existing, forgot to be.
A faraway pain, like a bird, alights on my hand,
Some ice on distant mountains settles in my heart.
All my experiences could not help me to understand
Why pain has be analysed, why the soul in crisis
Has to dissect, react and realise.
Pain is more than a commodity
More than a substance that can be caged
Artists and poets have used it in its intensity
And often, often sunk under the weight of its density.
I am one with this emotion.
It has become a part of this whole.
Remove it now and then I fear
That it will leave a painful, abyssmal hole.
Rani Turton
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/analysing-that-pain/
