If

If I spoke for a thousand years
would you hear me?
If I took a hundred burning arrows
in my subservient chest
would you mourn my loss?
I am the lost, the low,
the tortured, the weak;
cast me much lower
and I will burn my eyes
under the wrath of Hades
and its sordid hawks.
The Genesis Hall
is my road to recovery,
the flags of glory
my merciful passage
to a sweet restitution of inner joy.
Yet the river flows
with unnatural speed
and I cannot but feel
helpless and felled
at the feet of you,
my ungrateful lord.

A X