Authors Self Publishing Enterprise

13/12/2025

30/11/2025

THE CLEAR, SWEET PAIN

How repulsive it is to be alone and sorrowful;
to suffer mental torture simply by thought.
To cast around and groping, fail to find,
Or, finding, fail to recognize.

This cannonades within me;
it rumbles and bombards my mind.
Yet, it is far from easy to confront past wrongs;
for memorial censorship suppresses and distorts,
while nausea seeps in, and taints the brain;
disfigures and eliminates the clear, pure pain.

What do I hope to find? I probe, I search,
I lower myself to depths so low that even I,
the author, the producer, the performer of the piece,
admit my disgust. Yet I will never let myself
achieve and accept the onerous result;
an end so simple in itself, so tortuous to attain.

To find the truth, naught else.
To whisper, shout, or preach the truth,
but more importantly: to admit my guilt;
to face up to what I disdain to acknowledge.

Joseph Sinclair, 30 November 2025

29/10/2024

Still sorting through my computer diaries, I came across this. Still arouses reflection I feel. Is it a joke? Is it an essential truth? Who cares!