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The Young One

It is an offering
that must be made.
These are the best gifts
they say, and that may be.

But it came to me
unwanted, and it pulls me down
into a place of no thought, no reason,
only tears.

Were it death, that is one thing.
I mock death, and I know its defeat.
No, this is much worse,
and I am powerless.

I do not know how to offer
what I have been given.
I cannot see how it is good.
You want my bitterness and despair?

Perhaps Wisdom will come and say,
"This is the way."
On my behalf, she says,
"Accept it, for he is The Young One."

My portion is regret
and anger is my friend.
The choicest parts
It seems have been taken.

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