Suffering takes reality at its action
and words only spin out if the pain boils over.
A dilettante with nothing lost, much gained,
can only pretend to adventure, desperation, and journeys.
Is that what it's been? Has nothing happened?
Am I breathing air that ought to be reserved
for the overcomers, the daily runners,
the affixed to hardened masts?
It may be that the sunrise outside this comfortable window
enjoyed from a comfortable bed
is a reflection of an unearned living
whose shine rubs off at the behest
of a hand that's of the world.
Roman Ryan 