BY DR. AGONSON
Despair and die, my mantra rings.
Upon the mountains’ lofty peaks
I gaze while by the running creeks.
Stretching, I lay my body out
upon the dew touched grass, yet doubt.
Despair and die, again I sing.
Despair and die here where I lie,
among the winter’s knotted trees,
their roots below the whistling breeze,
upon the forest’s mossy floor,
the seat of faery tale and lore.
Despair and die ‘low sunset sky.
Despair and die, O dreary bones,
and let the vibrant green wash o’er,
let nature grow, let mushroom spore
their little houses build along
your rotting zombie corpse. My song,
despair and die, and die alone.
Despair and die, but live again.
Above I see the sun return,
and by this rising star discern
a lofty, weather beaten crow.
Though in the sky he’s flying low,
despair and death would be a sin.