We walked in a daze, driven
for a better answer than the one given.
We, chasers of the elixir to heal wounds
But we, chancers, and ended up in a field.
Wounded Healers, laying on hay.

The filed was empty and foreign
It's beauty stolen and was now barren,
expect for the hay we lay on.
There a great sense of clarity aroused.
But before that rose could nourish and fully flourish, it rained.

Youth knows no pain, but that's a flawed statement.
Truth is, if you saw us in the rain
You'd see what we felt was raw and fresh.
We felt the cleansing waters on our flesh,
But even if we stood in this shower for hours, we'd still feel so *****

'We, Two Boys Together Clinging'
Clinging to the idea that we could fix each other.
With a mix of empathy and sympathy.
You said the arts would help, so we acted out our damaged parts.
Listening to the symphony of our bandaged hearts.

I sit and look out upon all the sorrows of the world, and upon all
    oppression and shame;
I hear secret convulsive sobs from young men, at anguish with
    themselves, remorseful after deeds done;
I see, in low life, the mother misused by her children, dying,
    neglected, gaunt, desperate;
I see the wife misused by her husband—I see the treacherous seducer
    of young women;
I mark the ranklings of jealousy and unrequited love, attempted to be
    hid—I see these sights on the earth;
I see the workings of battle, pestilence, tyranny—I see martyrs and
    prisoners;
I observe a famine at sea—I observe the sailors casting lots who
    shall be ****’d, to preserve the lives of the rest;
I observe the slights and degradations cast by arrogant persons upon
    laborers, the poor, and upon negroes, and the like;
All these—All the meanness and agony without end, I sitting, look out
    upon,
See, hear, and am silent.

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

Sadness without a reason is the worst because how do you solve a problem without a cause?