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 dictates¹

    as its first condition： no screaming there

    We crown ourselves with thorns of past

    transgressions² Sharp spears of deed spare

    no rib³ of pain： around the cross crashed

    common lightning usual blood Who earns

    our reverence⁴ should break both cross and crutch⁵

    in the face of suffering： while the rack turns

    and tightens⁶ 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？