The Question's Inner Poem by Leon Moon

Is it music or truth
That brings my passion to rue?

Let us build an empire
On soil that has not tasted bone
Or buried on another land grown:

Enough of summoning resuscitation
And nurturing forms of decay
Into proclamation!
Even the folded wind we breathe in
Respires on its own terms
And expires in its own time…

I have unique revelations
Known to many
But their course is diverted
By their appearance my imposition offers,
This is the secret enemy
To hive-mind suicides…

Wrestled between two earths
And the spark that is unaware
Designating ensigns of each faction:

Is it artist or oath
That ties my vein to hope?