A tortured soul knows pain all too well
And yearns to be free of it.
Each tug on her heart is a trip to hell
But each day she grows a bit
Tired of the life she lives.
So unwilling to let go of her pain,
She cries in the night alone,
Deaf to the quiet voice in her brain
Asking for heart where now is stone--
Alas! the tortured soul is gone.
At her funeral her closest friends gather
And speak of her courage
To surmount all odds, to weather
The storm and to wear the badge
So proudly despite the pain.
A word to all then is this: Be glad
To graciously accept your lot;
Be thankful for everything, good and bad;
And always have a kind thought,
Even when life gets tough.
Originally written 4/27/94 15:51
Changed stanza 4, line 3 from "or" to "and" 1/23/98 10:04
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