Of Sorrow

Because I am sore, I inspect all great sorrows. Where ever you go, I must greet them. It Is your sorrow that I tested, I measure, using narrowly using, the eye of the needle, I strictly. Your treasured ones I measure there weight, and you think of it as a cloud to rain not of doubt. Am I why, you think in doubt and doubt you think, why I am. As for me and by the gate of your each, my one. Feelings, I feel and such by feeling, such is old pain. Whether or not I am hurt, because of all that have lived and before I have lived. And If you must and those of you, must I try. That scar it is quick to close on none but those. To give forth unto you the fragrance of my oil. It is enlightened through you and I am larger than pain. Do you grieve? Smaller than a large number to all, see what I say. A vision of natural air. However perhaps, and I do not presume this of you, it is just-sorrow. Because you pay attention to sorrow, our paths back and forth they must cross. And trust how they must and must they how you trust. Trust that I mostly and your sorrow, it is you. And your of one body and beings you are the bright ones.