There must still be destiny
Judgment upon us
Not always the enemy
Waiting to bomb us
Not putting my head
To these jobs
Any longer
Deliver me unto
The end of the story
And stronger grown from it
The roots of my glory

If there were once slaves
Tell me how it’s still made
The same way
A news ANCHOR
Can make you afraid
And if I could not speak
Would I live just to eat
Should I not pay the homeless
Asleep in the street
For my vanity
Certainly
Sates itself thusly
My heart is still beating
Just leaky and rusty

Yet empathy still
Spilling out from my wounds
And I don’t just inhabit,
I thrive in these tombs
Can’t control what they think
So conditioned to help
But to care,
Really care
Demands more of oneself
To prepare
For the barely
Still breathing
Of others
Like watching the end
Of the world
Without lovers