Suffering: an IMprov Poem

A friend and I were discussing (In Instant Messaging) the topic of suffering and how certain some people suffer all the time. I opined:
All forms
of suffering
are mere norms
for buffering.

We can twist
and we can bend;
or we can list
or send
them fleeing
away,
like sheep bleating
for fear at end of day.

It is always ours to choose:
Do we win? Or do we lose?

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