Was I Created To Suffer

Was I forged in the crucible of fate, To be a vessel for sorrow's endless weight? Was I crafted to weep in solitude's dark night, A solitary figure, lost in unrelenting light? Am I but a pawn in the game of life, A fleeting amusement, a moment's trivial strife? Was I created to be a mere whisper, unheard and unseen, A forgotten whisper, lost in the din of humanity's scheme? My days are shrouded in a veil of tears, A perpetual sorrow that dries my eyes and sears. I kneel, a supplicant, hands clasped in fervent prayer, Yet the heavens remain silent, unmoved by my despair. Oh, the crushing weight of existence's cruel design, A life of suffering, where pain is my sole companion, my heart's rhyme. I scan the faces of others, searching for a glimpse of hope, A fleeting smile, a moment's respite from this endless scope. But alas, their joy only serves to underscore my plight, A stark reminder of the happiness that's denied to me, a life without light. I wonder, was I born to be a martyr to pain, A perpetual outsider, forever trapped in this desolate terrain? How do I convey the depth of my anguish, my heart's cry, That the universe might take notice, and respond, "I hear you, I see you, I am here"? I've knocked,