And these are the things you always knew:
that your son would die the way he dreamed
he would, that you were in want of love,
that loneliness was not a necessity
but a choice. You only wanted not
to see them, and so, immortal
but not invincible, you raised
your hands against yourself.

And while you hung, thirsting, after years
of wandering, blood weeping from your side,
you saw more than ever.
Blinded, your eyes were opened.
Now you stare oblivion in the face,
your powers only a means to the end.


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