The cursed gift
of response-ability
pounds its fist
into my heart
as discrepancies
do their part
to strip me down
until I drift numb
and dumb
in a pale gown
of powerlessness
perceived
grieving again
in the empty night
at the haunting sight
of geese against gray
flying for you
and I scream
unheard
misunderstood
in a fist fight
with fate
always too late
I weigh this choice
beseeching the voice
of courage
to respond.
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