The sermon after a bruise

There is a famous George Bernard Shaw Quote that says:
"This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap; the being a force of Nature instead of a feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy."


Makes one ponder.
 
Anyway, here is a poem intended as a tribute to that line of thinking.
 

The sermon after a bruise

You complained incessantly
that you could not handle the boulder
you chose to carry
so I rolled it down the hill for you.

You kept whining
that you were drowning
with the millstone around your neck
so I cut it free.

So now tell me
do you expect to go through life
without getting bruised?

Do you not expect to stub your toe
when you wander around drunk?

Do you expect to keep fanning the flames
and not get burnt a little?

Do you have to keep going out of your way
to play with thorny bushes and complain
your finger is bleeding?

Do you have to keep
scratching that itch and complain
that it is infected?

Fuhgeddaboudit.

These small doses of pain
are meant to keep you awake
and sober.

Can you finally
rise to your challenges and
offer what you have to offer
before you end up on the scrap heap?

Can you finally
shut up and serve?