YOU GIVE WHAT YOU CANNOT HAVE

There's no time for sadness or pain for that matter. I am running with it till my chest swells. I drink the rest. At this age, I only know how to go on. I am the classic object of pity. Nowadays even the oppressors feel pity for what they themselves have oppressed. Strange lands we find ourselves in. Existence supercedes desire, it supercedes almost everything. There's no time for love. Forgetting, remeberance, memory. Quite uncertain terms. Isn't age supposed to make us wise? How wisdom is tainted by these uncertain climes, almost gasping for breath.