Speak Out on the 'Morrow

I ask is it wise to speak on the 'morrow,
To predict sweet relief, to expect bitter sorrow?
Is this deep anguish our tragic condition,
an ongoing harvest eluding fruition,
an eternal struggle on mortality's arc,
that worms 'round inside a terrestrial heart?
Unwatered seeds now thirst for reprieve.
Soft-petaled flowers fear they'll become weeds.
Their rain-dampened beds will eventually dry,
beneath tumbling clouds of the October sky.

I ask is it wise to speak on a meaning,
to envision a path, to put up your own ceiling?
Do our ambitions give us real direction,
does the horror of death throw back a reflection?
Is being alive a modern mirage,
like Icarus rising to greet mighty gods?
His heavy white wings will soon melt apart,
he'll feather toward earth like a mangled lark.
But what is an angel but man overrated?
Twain gave us wisdom when he wrote "nickel-plated"

I ask is it wise to speak on our neighbor
to damn him a sinner or don him a savior?
Does this detachment lead to our lost essence
was not the first king the son of a peasant?
Is history no more than a progenitor's tale,
who battles dark seas on a moth eaten sail,
or a lone trumpeteer who out-blows the wind,
and conducts an old song for a million dead men?
For how many notes can a twisted horn cry,
that sputters half-truths and screams out whole lies?

I ask is it wise to speak out at all,
for nothing is known and empires fall?
Does this defect advance our disease
to poison our hopes and charitable deeds?
Alas! We must speak, if we cherish this lot,
from the pacifist doves to war-loving hawks,
from the slow-stalking beasts to the nimblest prey,
people speak out on the dregs of the day!
I ask is it wise to speak on the 'morrow?
Speak boldly, earth grows ears. Keep silent, all grows hollow.