I SUFFER BECAUSE I LOVE

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I suffer because I love.

I hear sighs in the corridors of the day.

I long for suffering love, because this is what will stay.

If I must suffer, love, let me suffer because of you.

Suffering without love is unimaginable.

And not something I’m prepared to do.

They say sufferers are losers, and those who do not, win.

They are right! I would love to inhabit a sly, seductive grin,

But I think all eventually suffer, and I am glad

You seem to be sad.

Suffering is proof of love.

Too much laughter and joy

Will annoy.

There are holes everywhere, leading into the earth.

We are going to fall into one,

So what is joy worth?

As I am going down,

I’ll think of you—your kiss, your sorrow, your frown.

 

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3 Comments

  1. Andrew said,

    August 6, 2015 at 2:37 am

    “Behold, I am weary of my wisdom, like a bee that has gathered too much honey; I need hands outstretched to receive it.

    “I would give away and distribute, until the wise among men find joy once again in their folly, and the poor in their riches.

    “For that I must descend to the depths, as you do in the evening when you go behind the sea and still bring light to the underworld, you overrich star.

    “Like you, I must go under—go down, as is said by man, to whom I want to descend.

    “So bless me then, you quiet eye that can look even upon an all-too-great happiness without envy!

    “Bless the cup that wants to overflow, that the water may flow from it golden and carry everywhere the reflection of your delight.

    “Behold, this cup wants to become empty again, and Zarathustra wants to become man again.”

    Thus Zarathustra began to go under.

    [Thus Spoke Zarathustra, ch. 1]

  2. Avnee G said,

    August 6, 2015 at 5:41 am

    I can so connect with the lines right now. Beautifully written. Love indeed can be very hopeless and cause great suffering at times : )

  3. thomasbrady said,

    August 6, 2015 at 12:05 pm

    Thank you, Andrew and Avnee.

    People forget sometimes poor Nietzsche was a poet.

    As I strive to write poems to my secret beloved, who I know loves me and whom I love, despite everthing, as I strive to bring her beauty and living in the only way I know how, I am sometimes filled with the conviction that beauty is nothing but equal parts of joy and sorrow.


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