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.