February 20, 2008
By Marcus Victor Gomes, Winthrop Harbor, IL

Years of bout,
years of doubt,
is there any way,
I could say sorry?
For all I’ve succeeded?
And for all that I’ve depleted?
To those caught in the crossfire,
Of life gone embroil,
to a mind in maelstrom,
Of a defective wight,
seized by crippled strings?
But here I stand,
Always in regression,
weakening, worsening,
As you stand and watch,
And I cry to look away, let me be,
You won’t leave
Why must that be?
Haven’t I evoked enough of this affliction?
I don’t understand,
aren’t you tired of this?
This demanding repetition of the past?
You smile and give me your hand
How could you do this?
Too much of a burden,
I don’t deserve this kind of sentience,
That is something I must earn,
But you’re still there,
I can’t stand it
I can’t bear to watch,
such pain you went through,
All for me.
I wish all of this could elapse,
Reverse time and take me back,
I’d make compensation,
I’d make expiations,
I’d make reparations,
I’d give you my vindication,
My extenuation
My justification,
My atonement.

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