pity the sense of impotence
over profound effect —
like a heart
full to bursting
but never quite there,
a mind full of queasiness
and secondhand rejection of a scene
but not yet ready to act —
that is me, that’s me
and I am ashamed of my pity
as it’s all I can offer;
short of anger, short of sorrow,
reserved one step
from where I know I should be,
blazing underneath though
I should be on righteous fire,
instead ashamed and rightly so
of my lack of decision, my impotence
in the face of need; it’s all I can do
not to dig in my heels, not to grind
my hands into my eyes, and not stand
in the face of monstrous evils
and live for one second, maybe more,
maybe less; it’s all I can do
not to sing and scream.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T