Lament

When will it stop, O Lord, when will it stop?
When will I find release from pain and sorrow?
Each day it seems my grief has reached its top,
And somehow every single damn tomorrow
Finds more to cram into my wasting life.
A cough turns to a cold, turns to a flu,
Which manages to cut me like a knife
Where nothing can assuage it. If I knew
When it might stop, when I might find relief,
When all the pains (not merely physical)
Might end, and give at least a stable grief
Rather than its permanent increase,
I might be able then to be grateful
For life and breath - but now, I need release.