Hangman of Pure-Heart

Ferry me furiously further  from the furnace of self chaste and river of man -hope, The island of feigned wellness, The high-horse of self-pride;  hangman of pure-heart.  What's the shame in weakness? What's the shame in weeping? What's the fault in falling? The tussle to stay afloat keeps the mind on its toes The Spirit and Soul's penchant for penance rises.   What's the crime in loosing? Where's the guilt in crouching? Why berate thyself, restless soul. The patch of weed is harbinger of fertile crop Yet the clearing has to be done. tomorrow's harvest corrects the day's labour. Shame has to be ingested for glory to bloom; Glory, antithesis of gloom, light of man. Sometimes the head will stoop to scoop the signs from the earth, as done by kin unknown. Why then worry about man's worry. What's the shame in crashing on your hind when the load is too weighty? What's cowardly in fleeing from repose when peace dies within? Where is the honor in screaming from pain when you've aged numb?    What's the shame in mouthing the truth? Why worry when your line is straight?   Why ululate when your heart is pure? Why scratch the head's pores till it sores? Why bother when the cows still make beef and soap yet brings lather? Why tug at receding hair till it embrace baldness? Ferry me furiously further from the furnace of self chaste and river of man -hope, The island of feigned wellness, The high-horse of self-pride; The hangman of pure-heart. So, I may yet remain sane.