a weeping world.

Sometimes, the wiser ones say
That it is better not to live,
For life is full of miserable things.
The call of war, the betrayal of friends,
The beauty of nature, all brought to an end.
They advise, on occasion,
That it is better not to love,
For love is hurtful and violent.
The unrequited feeling, the falsehood of dreams,
The elated sense is not all as it seems.
Sometimes, they preach to me,
That it is better not to have faith,
For faith is pointless and empty.
The hope of redemption, the community of lies,
Their pitiful acts all seen through God’s eyes.
It is often better,
Not to live, nor love, nor believe,
Because being is suffering and bland.
And the old man confides to me:
“For the world's more full of weeping, than you can understand.”