Category Archives: Poem


It’s too much to hope for;

It’s too much to hope for a life without pain,

It’s wrong to expect a life without pain,
For pain is our body’s defense.
No matter how much we dislike it,
And nobody likes pain,
Pain is important,
For pain we should be grateful!

How else would we know,
To move our hand from the fire?
Our finger from the blade?
Our foot from the thorn?
So pain is important,
And for pain we should be grateful!

There’s a type of pain that serves no purpose,
That’s chronic pain,
It’s that elite band of pain that’s not for defense.
It’s an attacking force.
An attacker from within
A destroyer of personal happiness
An aggressive assailant on personal ability
A ceaseless invader of personal peace
A continuous harassment to life!
Chronic pain is the hardest hurdle for the mind to jump.
Sometimes it is almost impossible to jump,
Yet, we must keep trying,
And trying,
And trying.
Because if we don’t it will destroy.

From this battle will come some good,
The satisfaction of overcomig pain.
The achievement of happiness and peace, of life in spite of it.
This is quite an achievement,
An achievement very special, very personal,
A feeling of strength
Of inner strength
Which has to be experienced to be understood.

So, we all have to accept pain,
Even sometimes destructive pain.
For it is part of the scheme of things,
And the mind can manage it,
And the mind will become stronger for the practice.

— Jonathan Wilson-Fuller

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Posted by on May 26, 2011 in Poem


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I miss him.
I shouldn’t be
but I do.

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Posted by on August 25, 2010 in Poem



The Road Not Taken (A poem) by Robert Frost

The Road Not Taken
(Robert Frost)

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I–
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

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Posted by on July 3, 2010 in Poem


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