I’m told the burden isn’t mine.
That the wreckage is olde,
and those maps were drawn well before I was borne.
I touch the rubble anyway,
and find my fingerprints already in the dust.
As it turns out,
responsibility is not inherited,
but it can be claimed.
A treasure.
I don’t answer for the world before I caused it,
but I should respond while I’m in it.
And my silence?
It brings forth a loud sound.
A bang.