To pain I say, thank you
because the day, for once, seems longer
and the hands on the clock stand still,
straining, twitching, convulsing
against their will.
To pain I whisper, thank you
because your arms grip tighter
than anyone else I know
and you never, ever, ever
let me go.
This poem came to be when I asked myself, if pain were a person, what would you tell them? Besides the discomfort, pain does a few good things: it slows down the ever-speeding clock and clings faithfully to you in its own, unpleasant way. There is something to be grateful for in everything.
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