Wise Master

Through blistering desert
and shifting sands
O’er mountains grand
into valleys low
I travailed

I come unto you, wise master
to ask of your mind
what pray thee am I to do
with this pain?
Of this disappointment?

With deep eyes and
holy countenance, the master
smiled upon the man
in his futility and spoke:

When a child is born
what of that pain?
When a fire blazes forth
what of the wood?

Not all pain is bad,
nor all joy good.
They dance together
as all things should.

For what is joy
without sorrow?
What is love
without loss?
What is hope
without sadness?

Fear not, my child
Pain and loss
are but wood for the fires.
As they become ashes
so do your hopes transpire.

Despair not my child,
for a life well lived
is full of pain.
A flame will snuff out
when there is naught
left to burn

and nothing left to gain.