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.
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