We shouldn‘t worship suffering： the world’s

    a spinning rack where suffering indicates

    all goes well we‘re alive and not curled

    up in the black hushhush death dictates

    as its first condition： no screaming there

    We crown ourselves with thorns of past

    transgressions Sharp spears of deed spare

    no rib of pain： around the cross crashed

    common lightning usual blood Who earns

    our reverence should break both cross and crutch

    in the face of suffering： while the rack turns

    and tightens they‘ll smile at the sense of touch

    Suffering‘s too common to be worth

    anything joy too rare to be priced

    The saints we search for will embrace the earth：

    what wild-eyed murderer suffers less than Christ？