When all the men in white gather ‘round,
And all their smiles they have pulled down,
And God is all they learned in school
That’s when the Church picks up their tools.

When later drag in insecure,
The men that know they aren’t sure,
But must proceed and light the fuel,
When Francesco joins the duel.

When tall in stance so unafraid,
The man behind the trouble made,
With talk of Suns, and Earth, and joules,
Galileo ties the crewel.

When in they come, right on time,
And keep close guarded a biase unprimed,
For no! They shall so not be fooled!
The jurors come, and keep their cool.

When all these people uneasy meet,
Pull out their papers, take their seats,
And all our luck we share and pool,
When the Court does come to rule.

I remember looking,
looking at a bird.
And saw it standing still o’er looking
places undisturbed.
It seemed so dark attentive,
staring at a fox;
whose fur and paws and back stayed hunched-
like to take down an ox.
He stayed so tense, so silent,
and eyes fixed like a stone,
that upon me following his drawn eyes,
I came across a bone.
The bone be from a lion,
the bone be from...a man?
Yet soon my realization
made my attention further span.
I remember looking,
looking at a bird,
whose beak was frozen,
feet ybounden,
and eyes in horror locked.
The fox so tense so stiffened,
claws digging through snow to rock,
looked forn’t a source of nurriture
but a friend lost ‘gainst the clock.
I remember looking,
looking at a two birds,
whose prayers been made,
whose sympathy shown:
yet compassion never heard.

Hearing cracks in daily bells,
and waking from a friendly spell,
of evil likeness never lets me sleep,

But just see past the “won’t”
and for those who simply don’t,
have ne’er stared in the eyes of a stress itself.

And my notebooks ne’er rest either,
when I think of reaching higher,
I’l still scrape it till the paper bleeds deep.

So of others I shall think,
when “insane” on the brink;
I’ll soon collapse hard for the sake of myself.

And I’m sorry for the pardons,
For of work I’m far less ardent
Than of distraction, worry and zealous self-doubt.

So to you say I quite candid,
Think of my mind further banded
To the places requiring far less sneaky stealth.

I dig a hole now once or twice,
Wherein that hole I somber hide.
From all the troubling symphonies,
And how it shrieks and shakes and pleas

And when I dig that hole so wide,
But also shallow for me to hide,
I leave the top uncovered there,
With no protection, I am bare.

So bare that one may still so touch
And comfort the mind becoming rough.
But left exposed without care,
A blackened heart will desist there.

And when the birds and sky and earth,
Hear not the drumming that once occurred,
The stone-so heavy in my chest,
Draws down the earth; deeper yet.

And once it goes it will not stop:
That bleating song for why it drops.
Th’ abyss it makes goes further on
Forever more; continually withdrawn.

And why it can continue so,
To the notes so high but the words so low?
For the ditch I dug to that doleful tune,
Had adjoined not with the ground’s slight hewn.

Instead the hole uncovered,
Was from there which first tears were shed.
I died not from the harsh and wind,
I died, in fact, from the hole within.