PAIN’S MIGHT … Oh the tender soul of it all

The wound is, and life lands
To lose youth to pain’s age
Tomorrows came to cover you
And the hemorrhaging of it all

To mind days of love’s endless battle with will
The treatments and drugs and the scalpels’ tear sealed
Whilst lo, your guard of love protected receiving
The subject of: You are an object to save

The study and practice of treating the unknown
The science of mystery fed by narcotics
An oath of God-nature with a license to heal
Controlled by the most faithful desperate pleas pricing

Oh how —God would teach you —the long ends of pain
How love’s guilt could rear up your sins living end
The will of your love for life grew ever-strong
Till here alone your plight withstood the fell time

The wound is, and living life lands
To win wars of pain and rest not: more the same
To conquer controlling your dividing mind vice
To be love and be all wars’ opposites vying

Then lo, time’s technology beat what is mortal
The heart was not going to kill you —The mother
What pain now knew so did your fight to recover
And Death’s loss was measured by what war was won?

Then the day comes to know you cannot survive death
You cannot defeat life, love, or your soul’s self
There is no war questioning how your soul forms
Long —you are still here, (lost?) fighting with pain

So you lay down your arms and say ‘Let the storms come,’
And lo, what you always have known as defeat
Was a storm’s profound calm, and immeasurable peace
Your fight to fix life broken —fell to its knees

To undergo living life here —sow to grow
You gave your fists hands to touch Death’s not alone
And you unfurled your wings here to span the whole globe
But were rained on by stones you have thrown

Now all that pain taught you was still close at hand
You have only to move your mind’s wrathful command
And crush all things mortal with suffering’s might
And price your pride is wrong and paid by you’re right

How pain has (constantly) taught you so well
But who lives within one sane heavenly hell?
If nothing is just the beginning of life
And death is a gift earned by one’s honest path

Yet in pain’s domain —all wars cannot be one
For pain less its life, fears your own wholeness shared
Pain can not grasp not protecting its face
Its purpose is to trust no one but itself

A dichotomy of answers held hands stretched apart
And mind you they never must form one love’s cup
To pool the world quenching pain’s love beyond thirst
And keep not the share of all swallowing others

Forever pain weighs it must not grow extinct
Its powers of fortune fear losing its’ plight
But love comes and offers it freedom from this:
Fore-save pains lost knowledge of healing itself

And the wound is, and now life is the future was
Living has reached your eyes’ soul
And blindness has forced you to see your soul’s ravel
Through the loom of Good’s Evil & Evil’s Good travels

Soul steps are here, as it all turns too real.
Physical stones tied to spirit’s unknown
By webs of raw innocence; faultless at birth
Blamed now and weighed at survival’s sane cliff

Being’s form growing has gifted you this
The days are now filling with priceless relief
And more now what lessens inverted dimensions
Still your wing’s flights are delayed by flight lessons

Sum love impossible is being born
How you cry at the gorge of your brain’s fabric torn
For pain is a headstone awaiting its’ site
But peace of mind can’t find its plot on this earth

It’s here; being born, like the nose on your face
Now the wind gives you all the breath you need
The healing choice of pain ends; old wounds will die
Lay down your harm-laden weapons of fault

For all faults are done!
There is no reward!
You are here now!
Harm none; include self!

Live you are
Hereby one self and no more
Respect death’s gift
Moment by soul-moments form

Heal pain and others will be led by you
Heal pain and other will be healed by you
Let go of pain’s will
For this is

Your choice

© Copyright 1/9/2008 C.C. Arshagra
From “the Poetry of Good-bye” Sereis and collection (Unpublished work)

The inspiration for this poem

PAIN’S MIGHT … Oh the tender soul of it all

C.C. Arshagra

NEW BRITAIN, United States

  • Artist
  • Artwork Comments 8

Artist's Description

This poem is Based on and inspired by the painting Healing Old Wounds By MARIAM MURADIAN. Acrylic and oil pastels on canvas.

Dear RedBubble Artist, if I may note: Please be inspire by all that RedBubble gives you. And I Ask: If so –Say so. How hard is it to be grateful aloud. The soul of an artist is frail, maybe even too much so in some misunderstanding instances. But, at least if a writer inspires a visual artist, or the opposite of this happens, or any other cross medium translation of artistic expression, I am sure no damage will be done or interpreted as so. If only the truth be told. The honour is a shared one! For me, the mentioning of (and public acknowledgements of) your art as the source is the most important part of this process. For this involves the most sacred and tender art forms I know of –Honesty. Trust. And Respect. I will soon post a Journal entry by this name to tell the story of Amanda Joy’s brush with plagiarism. And my ever-humbling experience in this tale of online support between artist. So now that I have shoved my preverbile esthetic foot down my throat, I’d might well risk a little fantacty of mine. If I were a painter I’d let some of the lines in this poem inspire me to create, shoot, draw, or paint the soul emotions of my impacted interpretation of them. I am actually not asking you to do so! I would only want to welcome it, and from here let the drive be born naturally by you. The excerpt of the poem ‘PAIN’S Might … oh the tender soul of it all’ are my dream lines. Lo, I am a word man. And quite happy to let the beautiful your soul inspiring images of your visual medium move me to pen a poetic gift born of it. But who knows what will move me next. A journal entry inspired one. It is the mention, the true thanks that matters. Art born of art, born of art, baby, this can be fun work. The energy matters. Just think; Your great grandmother was a comment. One hundred years there is you.

Mariam Muradian’s painting is perhaps the 8th one to move me so. Yet, it is the first by an artist I have created with before. As a poet, I have often said, “I am a painter of words”. When I speak to an audience about being a poet I most often say, “It is the job of a poet is to say the unsaid, that which seems impossible to say, the thoughts we all feel but for whatever the reason (Fear, security, doubt, a lack of confidence) we do not”. Poetry is in the end a medium of art. Here at RedBubble I have entered a new realm of influence. You art, images, comments, support, the mature beauty of this community is a rare find for me. Here I have risked my fears of exposure faster than I can say I have any. I am so grateful to all of you who have and will inspire me to create.

Gratefully yours,
C.C. Arshagra
READ PART (2) TWO of this poem here


I thank you all for reading this poem!

The moments you (may graciously choose to) take to comment truly matter.

I am so grateful to those who favorite the work (especially because it a written work)

See Journal section of my RB page here for a list of short poems / Words Count listed

Please further note that there is a vast spectrum of subjects, issues, and levels of intensity.
I am EXTREMELY GRATEFUL TO THOSE OF YOU WHO ADD MY WORKING RedBubble Site to YOUR WATCH LIST --I feel this is one of the highest complements of respect a visiting RedBubbler can give. This is not to under-estimate how riveted my humility feels with each comment. This expresses the reserve of your taste, and the future value of your time.

REMEMBER the VISIT The RedBubble Artists and their works of art here. Almost all of my writing are based on and or INSPIRED BY RedBubble Art and Artists. Let my know if any of the links to their sites are not functioning._ (Hot Links)

Artwork Comments

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