LETTERS TO DESTINY © 2012

My weariness is different,

From those who have not suffered enough.

I carry on my shoulders an ancient burden,

That only those who know pain can feel.

It is not the weight of hours gone by,

Nor the tasks the world imposes,

It is the weariness of wounded souls,

Who, in silence, are willing.

To face what is unseen,

To fight against shadows and winds,

To cry without anyone noticing

The emptiness of their thoughts.

This weariness has no relief,

It does not pass with earthly rest,

For it is the mark of those who have tasted

The bitterness of life without brakes.

But, even tired, I move forward,

With faith that keeps me standing.

For I know that constant suffering

Shapes the soul that believes in God.

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