Can it not be sufficient just to be,
To toil in my secularity,
Weaned in a world of wickedness and strife?
Must I explore the hurt with which all's rife?
I'm well aware something is stabbing me
And cannot be removed unpainfully;
Must I observe as well as feel the knife?
I must. The difference between the knowing
Endurance of a pain that I know well
And simply suffering without an end
Is like the separation between growing
Through honest effort, and a sudden swell
That falls away. We have to know, to mend.
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