Too Slow

I can't insist. I can't even let go
Of hope. I haven't got a broken heart,
Or even broken fingers; since the start,
When I was still connected with the show,
Awaiting love, expecting it to grow,
And watching it instead coming apart,
I knew I'd be relinquishing my art
Once everybody saw my dance. Too slow!

I tried to manage without clarity
Of purpose and of vision, but I can't.
I tried to substitute a vicious rant
For truth, and for one moment I could see
A quiet path leading to victory,
But those triumphs are feckless, cruel, and scant.