The Purest Of Pain Poem by Jack Smith

As I trudge through the pages of my life
I pass through faces, cold and hurt,
and glance at places, old and empty,
life, it seems, is more like an endless winter of loneliness
for the broken hearted, for the wounded soul
I am drifting in between,
like from the outside looking in,
afraid to step inside, afraid because of the unseen
how long can I endure myself? how far is it to the sunshine?
why do I want to dive in when I am drowning?
questions mock me and answers beg me
I long to be lost, lost in an eternal caress
I long to touch a soul, one that I can call my own
I long for the pain of the purest kind
that warms my heart even when I am cold
If what I want is what I need,
then why am I afraid? why do I hold back?
is it too dark to leap?
but is it not worth getting hurt?
for I know the gentle whisper of dawn,
will relieve all the pain of the day before,
but all my sandcastles keep tumbling down
and all my dreams forsake me,
alone, I carry on, longing for the touch
some days I make it through,
and then there's nights that never end,
love, I'd say, is the essence of human frailty,
designed by the potter, to break us and to mould us
that we may learn from Him and know what it means to love
love, I'd say, is the purest of all pain,
that sheds your tears of heaven,
and gives you hope eternal
to love and to be loved