What's left with me
from years of glee,
of gift and plunder,
rape and bliss,
is hope to be
enough to see
a speck of wisdom
like a kiss.
What's left of my
primordial sigh
about a world
so hard and cold,
is some old lie
of how unshy
I never found
what I was told.
What's left of all
my standing tall
is knowing how
to duck away.
I heard the call.
I took the fall,
and never saved
a single day.