Guilt

The sea of open pain that lies between
"This isn't who we are, this isn't us"
And "this isn't who we wish that we had been"
Swallows whole expeditions without fuss.
"We don't do this." Well, actually, we did
We know (we knew, we always know) it's wrong
But that alone cannot and should not rid
Our souls of having done it. We can long
To live upon that blessed, far off shore
But oceans are not crossed by mere desire.
We must set sail: be better, and do more,
And take the fault and blame, however dire.
We may fall seasick as we turn and toss
But we must stomach it, or else not cross.