It activates my deep regret
when forced inside the place I’m set;
the stress revives my sickened woe —
I’m made to conceal what I would show.
With so much riding on reputation,
why should I care what is my station?
Patience, however, wants to run away;
Confidence rejects his chance to stay.
It’s not as if it’s life-determining,
but quitting seems like simple sinning,
so I’ll push through without a word,
thereby forgetting if I’m sure —
although it’s thought that sends the deepest pain,
my words controlled within my brain,
so I’ll limit those, along with words,
then all regret and woe are blurred.