Frantic with fear, impatient of the wound, And impotent of mind, she roves the city round.
So roams the nightly wolf about the fold: Wet with descending show’rs, and stiff with cold, He howls for hunger, and he grins for pain, (His gnashing teeth are exercis’d in vain,) And, impotent of anger, finds no way In his distended paws to grasp the prey.
Mad with her anguish, impotent to bear The mighty grief, she loathes the vital air.
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Lev stands there, impotent, unable to move, unable to process this.
Neal Shusterman -- Unwind
…in my mad dash for Sam—and I went airborne, landing with a jaw-popping force on the thin carpeting, jumped up, glanced back, and saw Ben Parish lying lifelessly there, arms outstretched, dark wet blotch of blood seeping through that ridiculous yellow hoodie, and then Sam screamed and I’m not too late, not too late, and here I come, you sonofabitch, here I come, and in the room a tall shadow loomed over the tiny figure whose tiny finger yanked impotently at the trigger of the empty gun.