Shackle Sympathy

It struck me pathetic, that scores should ridcule me, for inanities and frivolitities, and look for sanguinity, where there was only icy clear ash, I had grown by numerous pricks so thick, that nothing ever pierced inside, and pained in any manner, the life had beccome such a stage, where I enacted my mechanical roles, as if I was a fallen tree branch in quagmire, with life enough only to rot away, there was no messiah that could lead a hand, and lift me clear out of it free, wherever I turned I found them struggling, wrigling ,irked and peeved like me, in the very same marshes of"life", and I was convinced my sympathy was not lost, for nothing for those who had lost perhaps everything.