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ALL THE ILLUSION OF PAIN
ALL THE ILLUSION OF PAIN
Adam’s grandmother stood around looking for the shadow
Of the first soul; it’s not hard to see how this pain came.
Our progenitors knew long ago of our protracted plight.
Oaks darkened most of New England, covering it with
Leaves. Squirrels and groundhogs rummaging through
All those acorns could not see virtue in Plymouth Rock.
How many souls in South Africa had to die from a horrible
Death from necklacing; maybe the moon witnessing the horror
Gave birth to Nelson Mandela’s soul during his imprisonment.
Moby Dick is not wild enough to create Ahab’s soul; he is
The offspring of an ancient fear of leviathans in the deep;
The soul of humanity is moved by some inexplicable horror.
There is a mystery behind the birth of Jesus; how could it be
That with all his vulnerability that he triumphed by ascension;
Could it be that Pilate, Caesar and Herod were ill advised?
We are impressed by the pain, shock and awe campaigns;
It is all a tempest full of sound and fury signifying nothing.
For this, Shakespeare intones, “Methinks thou protest too much.
