The Burden

I am confident. I don't need
your symbolisms: a severely damaged
heart, a sick tree, wilting or rotting

there is nothing left but to be courageous.

The accidental cause shattering the stoic
bone, the bright, white light receding
like a burning fume, punishes only those

who least expect it. I will not grieve for

what was meant to be; I will resist it.
Just now, the poplar leaves wrestled from
their fragile stems, all but doomed, twist

and turn, flying in the autumn winds.

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