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.