Why not the sorrow Instead of hopeful constellations From mythical legends, Instead of the lost Gardens of Babylon, Beauteous notions Of the heart's grandiosity? If everyday is a struggle, If each day we try to fill The void we are born with, If pain is all too real; We are born into the struggled, To be friends to enemies To make ourselves whole While trying to find the existential Moment of truth in ourselves, As we gulp down joy And sweat about under the sun. The sorrowing cannot be claimed, Though its air chokes you, Though it eats your luster, There is the other that one rarely Finds, joy in the light. Sorrow is too frequently a visitor.