They withhold
My urge to stray
To free-fall in defiance

Uncertainty beckons
To my frozen treads
With a snare drum’s call to arms

“I’d surely be doomed
To a silent departure”
Is the domineering cry
Of vigilant saints

“I’d surely be doomed
To a somber farewell
To convene
With eternal sleep”

In truth
I keep the call to arms
My festering urge
To revolt

For the cause is born
In the fertile ground
Of a warm and nurturing mind