that sharp anvil

we all know something about pain
it is hot-wired to our brains
like electrodes applied to tender places
by visitors with cruel faces
who drag us harrowed white
in the screech hours of the night
and on that sharp anvil of a pin’s breadth try
one breath before we die to break us
like they used to break men down
upon a wheel while in our secret heart
love waits to be revealed

pray love comes to all who remain
we all know far too much about pain

[first posted December 2014]