Within this room of stone I lie
and watch the traffic hurry by
outside the narrow window pane
where love and life alike are vain
and ponder, between them and we
who the real prisoners be.
Eight months have passed now since the day
that we were tried and locked away.
Guilty! of not standing by
while innocents were brought to die.
Guilty! of denying choice
for once with more than merely voice.
It's not with weapons or by force
that rescuers save lives, of course,
but with their bodies do implore
for children who the world abhor
and by this act grant dignity
for "To hurt them, you must first hurt me."
Oh, great the rage of wounded pride
from men unused to being defied!
how great their zeal to instill dread
lest such defiance start to spread.
Accordingly, did Federal beast
on our humiliation feast
and soon their petty verdict released.
So now, inside our cells we wait
til Moloch's heirs decide our fate.
And I am taken to reflect
upon the voices who object
that "Sacrifice has no effect!
So best one's liberty protect."
For now has passed full fifty years
of endless blood (far fewer tears)
as parents do their offspring kill
by knife, suction machine and pill,
as tiny corpses with no names
are eaten up by rats and flames
and inconvenient people bleed
to satisfy both lust and greed.
Is this the land I thought I knew
where I was born, and loved, and grew?
Where friend and kin live, ties are strong
and everything I am belongs,
all harmonized in life's heartsong?
And all my youth I could not see
my home was bathed in savagery!
Cruel leaven of reality
now poisons every memory.
How well this sad epiphany
from idle things has severed me!
How empty, pointless, cheap and lean
the aims of average men now seem
as they pursue transient gain
oblivious to unborn pain.
Their paths I cannot imitate.
Such times great deeds necessitate.
And I must not omit to say
I see sparse difference between they
who, fearing duty, babes dispose
and the weedy soil who won't interpose.
These, sheltered beneath Gothic spires
retort "Ye preach unto the choirs!"
while all their days, they too pursue
the idols unbelievers do
and who, to maintain normal life
and keep their families safe from strife
spare not the time, have not the will
the Great Commandment to fulfill.
Thus "bad" and "good" behave akin,
not trapped in jails, yet slaves to sin.
Still, despite these griefs I pray
that we at last will see a day
when Sardis, weeping, completes her deeds,
takes up her cross and then proceeds
to teach and suffer and protest
and sometimes even risk arrest
til sinners do their guilt esteem
and finally hear the silent scream.
But some few must go first, it seems ...
Now we believe we've found a way
to respect the imago dei
and false authority defy
and all excuses nullify.
And having done this awkward deed
we hope that those outside take heed
and watch, to see how they proceed.
Thus, better captive in these walls
than to my fear I be a thrall.
Better that false freedom cease
than true freedom exchange for peace.
Better men should me restrain
than I, loving ease, from love refrain.
Within this room of stone I lie
and watch the traffic hurry by
outside the narrow window pane
where love and life alike are vain
and ponder, between them and we
who the real prisoners be.
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