To be or not. Words of blame are
coming up, rising higher with
each step. The rungs are multipling, I hear,
for those who climb my rotting ladder.

The sword wounds that will bleed me will
come from where? Is this where I will be made to kneel?
or some place else? Which side will the rush of pain
come from to bring, in blood, white news of death?

if one could know. Light from the ever
free Ursae has streamed down and gashed
the square lot of cursed earth
that came to grow clean inside my flesh.