No gear turned fine and smoothly
Till the first rough models broke.
No wheel turned light and quickly
Till a rebel carved a spoke.
No friendship grew and strengthened
Without hearts opened to hurt.
No neighbor’s warmth was nurtured
With responses cold and curt.
No lovers’ cove was treasured
More than after storms astern.
No passion’s flame rekindled
But for bringing fuel to burn.
No man was free a master
Till his mind was unenslaved.
No people shed a tyrant
Till they faced him unafraid.
No peace was long in lasting
When unanswered went the call.
No justice served for any
When no one would stand for all.
No life is fully lived
In pallid dread of pending death.
No fear is faced and conquered
Till accepted with deep breath.
No step into this world
Is ever taken until willed.
When last your eyes have closed
May they’ve seen a life fulfilled.
- Quent Cordair