A rage against what was and ne’er will be
the fury focused both on “gifts” and wants
an impulse both to dwell upon and flee,
a daily battle, even night time haunts
It stops me in my tracks, which will not do
a captive in a world both then and now
the door before me bids me walk on through
but pieces – grief and anger – won’t allow
can’t stop the “feels” so to them I give rein
whilst in the tumult fear that I may die
such jest – I haven’t been there yet – the pain
of red-faced indignation ere the cry
embarrasses – dismayed I run away
and save the hurting for another day
defying atrophy 