I see them by the wayside, groaning,
Ask them why they do despair.

"Why do you sit here sighing,
When there is so much wonder here?"

It hurts, they say, too bad to live.
The world's taken all they have to give.

One says, "I'm not a coward, I'm not scared
I've seen, and loved, and felt, and dared,

But It's this pain, you see, this throbbing hurt
That'll stop only when I'm ground down to dirt!"

I take the knife and plunge it in,
Tear off my flesh and give it to him.

He takes it, shuts his eyes; a smile.
Leaps in the air, laughing all the while.

I chop off more, hand it out,
To everyone gathered about.

The blood; it washes all away.
The flesh melts night into day.

I silently wish this to be the end,
Of having of my body this way to rend,

But no! It grows back, all of it!
Bone, muscle, sinew, bit by bit!

But I know I am not whole,
I see the big deep terrible wound,
I try to reach it by subtraction,
But my raft keeps running aground!

I turn back each time, giving of me freely,
Wishing only to be drowned.
But the sea throws me back mercilessly,
My true purpose yet to be found.