The Curse of Caring
to hold the heaviness of hope,
to have two eyes that can see
things of wonder in the wicked,
and to have a mind to know
that the world is deeply sickened,
but still a heart to love it so
and hands to hold a cure.
There’s a way it can be fixed and,
although it’s failed before,
through and through the earth is sifted
and a seed is upward-staring.
Of this, I swear, I’m sure.
But I can see that doubt is glaring
from those I’m fighting for.
Disbelief is quite a force,
Maybe my cure is but a curse.
It is, the curse of caring.
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