Leadened yet floating
Arie to the eye
Awry to the soothing whispers,
Of the mother’s cry—
Once beleaguered without volition by self
Now with intuition wrought
Of memories of invisible battles both of fighting and of fought

While the sun shines ever bright,
The bustle a lively hue
Behind the fleeting colors lie
A darkness most uncouth

Oh these vivid pangs of the heavy vast
Seem to forever lie
Within the weightless acquaintance of the ever azure sky

The chains so heavy bite the heels,
But ever do the fated wheels
Spin towards the sun in the East
Towards the lively, the impassioned, the Peace.

The choice lies not within the sky,
Nor in the mother’s tearful eye,
Nor in the darkness of the cloud,
But in the fire refusing the funeral shroud.