Are you despondent?
Do you regret the choice to live?
Is death solicitous or has it shrunk away?
Have you forgotten how to be inspired?
And is there yet flavor in your words?
Do not be judged lest you be
Desirous of condemnations;
For the simple ilk have it in them
To be won for affirmations,
Dancing for treats and giving themselves
To fires of false hope.
Heat emanates, and yet it is not
As the conflagration that ignites
And satiates the human soul.

I ask again:
Are you despondent;
Is your movement affected
By the rules of the earth?
Have you any torque that
Cannot be expressed in language?
But you stay silent
At the inquisition,
And we will never know
How little the dying soul breathes,
Neither what embers might
Resuscitate the fire.
For if you have been a man
As men are, and they are of God,
Then you will always sing
And notes will forever be your bloodline.
This eponymous stir of Satan
Curdles beneath the skin of life
And you dare not risk the organ
For the tributaries to the heart below.
It is this decision that turns the heart
Lax and black with defamations.
The silent in fetal quiet lay
Until Nature has her hold and
He concurs;
You leave this world emptier
Than you began it.
Sighing sicknesses are the visitors
At your headstone;
The progeny a listless dejection
Into perpetuity resigned.

I ask you now, again:
Are you despondent?
Up from lying, wake!
There is too much rotting
In our good to stay and
Leave the hallowed marrow
Of these bones at rest!
If not at once the good arises,
Surely, as the sun devises in its time
The journal of the day,
So shall you, light muster
And forth the resurrection of the
Dying breed of man!