A servant to his master has bonds
And often it’s the master who responds
The bond makes them one as a star
(I speak not of how things often are
But as they should have always been)
That master and servant are rightful kins

Unequal in station, but bird of one feather
They could walk through fire together
And die for each other, each understands
For a man has a call for those he commands
So much more does heaven watch over earth
And God over all every child’s birth

But it does not seem so. So, I tell you.
Trouble isn’t the worst to befell you
Not that knives do not bleed veins
Or hammers splinter a bone’s bane
But that bodies heal strong of might
And sun rises surely after each night

What happens to those with the long grind
When you have the morning in your mind?
What power does the torturer please
When the Warden approaches with the keys?
Patience has a perfect work on the soul
And by the noonday sun, hearts are full.

Ask brother, for wisdom and believe
He has never been silent as you grieve
But with expectation wheel about into the waves
And so committed you will see what you crave
Everything else is a confusion of mind
Unstable men crumble before pain resigned

O this perishing man of gilded tower!
You have as much endurance as a flower
Pretty are you so adorned with white lace
And so many admirers love your face
But the smallest goat-hoof leaves you slayed
Or a long week without rain and you fade

But hold you to the rail, and faithful stay
Tighten the grip that holds against the spray
Do not be distracted by fame of fools
Nor seduced by fortunes of costumed jewels
Never, and never, let despair steal your name
And everything every-when will be your gain.

Immediately he spoke, they murmured,
“How can this man we cleaved
Stand before us whole?”

The fractures still showed upon humble face
With sanguine robe-stained still
His waxing eyes were clear

And he spoke, “Bodies linger not broken
While the soul persists whole.
Let this be our feast.”

Be not confounded by the proof of it
Nor be ruled by your fear
But notice comfort

Speaking again, “Animus feeds on spite
But hate will surely starve
By a meal of love.”

The had all gathered together
People assembled as a throng
They spoke, and witnessed
The charges they read

Then did it come to be believed
And once believed was fully judged
Then the act punished
And the head removed

Now the less noble walk it aids more true

Still breathing threats and murder
With penned letters chilled of hate
Carried bucket of water
For plunging candles into his darkness

He could not see until blinded
Nor speak ’til wagging tongue seized
Only walked foul places
Until the bones of his legs were broken

Some cut themselves by the blade
Else by cutting of others
But all of those bloodied wounds
Find their way to the body most broken

They lit the Way, burning bright
One found another, cast the path
Until it became a road
And together shone brighter than day’s sun

I had been most clever
Such things are the fool’s way
Pretending to be wise

But there’s no hiding from
All the priests tried to bribe
To lay their hands on me

Grant some of that power
Make me you in their eyes
Spill some glory on me

Here are worthless trinkets
Hearken to empty praise
Prepared with food and wine

The crippled heartbeats ebb
To negotiate this
Random grasp in the dark

Perishing with nothing
No other portion piece
Offered this bitter one

If there is no true want
But a wanting to want to
Is that yet repentance?

Should that a starving man
Grown too weak to eat the bread
Die with it in his mouth?