I ask myself often and loudly.Why does my expression come mostly with pain. And where does it come from time and again.

And what is the reason that joy brings no meaning
My words have more substance and insight and meaning.Pain is my midwife.
She delivers the soul of it.
The heart and the sinew the blood and bone of it.  Why?.

Why is that so.
A smooth carriage inspires me not. Except for a moment or an odd inkling.

The stream seldom carries the twinkling.
The angst and the pain.
Confusion and grief.
Are my harsh school master.
With dower stare with
No sign of laughter.
Perhaps that is the tarrif.

The fare.
It gets me form here and it urges me there.

I think the price too high at times.

Too steep a hill to climb.

For the buffeting view.
The pound of flesh?
The devil's meal ?
Be that as it may.

I flip the cards. Cut the deck
And deal.