At Last

I have responsibility
to let go of sensitivity
lest it break the trust
that pours through me
and waters down
all it cannot see;
and sensitivity
hurts my honesty
blindly keeping at bay
the falling ashtray
supposing mistakes
rookie mistakes, it takes
heaven from its own
and mine, and home
it brings me back
and all it asks today,
all it asks right now,
is that I let it free,
sensitivity,
to cure me.
My responsibility,
all it asks of me,
is not to hold my scream in
nor boil my anger,
but to let the river flow
and wash the horror
from my eyes, and tongue,
and brain cells.
It will be the same day
that I wait in patience,
no longer waiting for love.
That same day, this day,
I christen with my soul
as it moves into redemption.