Sayest timshel from leaf and vine
You keep yours and I’ll keep mine

I vow not to be a shoulder to cry on
A balm to that Sartrean dis-ease

At which even he would shake his head.
Can you choose when things are weighted

By our stones a lapis and gold?
Of truncations of freedom to you

Even seem old? You, you step back
From the depths, from your behest

For know you are learned, deserved, and
White, your struggles aren’t so lead

Lament, can I, at no progress
Being the same in thought, though

Practice, marked indifference. We are
Not free, nor are we doomed

Rail against thyself and bear
And bite your teeth at the cord.