Suffering, survival

Do I know suffering?
No, I know nothing of it.
Do I know survival?
I have never had this
even in my worst times.

When I Iook at his face
I know suffering.
When I look at his face
I know survival.

But I have never
felt it myself.

All in an image.
On a screen.
Across the ocean
in a cable.


But suffering, yes.
Survival, yes.

He is Iost in a
catalogue of faces,
one after the other,
always more,
holding suffering,
holding survival
as their keepsake.

And I look in and see
their pain.

Thinking, I am the
lucky one.

Thinking, I am not
a man of sorrows.

I see the image and I have
no more left to write.

Just this.

My faith is taken away.