I have a story to tell you, my friend,
about the kind of man I have become,
who, choosing life, through living was condemned
by the masses, but by others loved more
than slanderers could ever comprehend.
I speak of the consequences of choice,
not of he who thinks of man as hemmed-in
by the burden of responsibility,
but who, seeing broken souls, loves to mend,
to stitch together lost threads with his own,
defying the domain of Gods to befriend
the devil, though not those at his command,
and, holding keys to heaven, does not ascend,
inhaling fumes from the underground,
exhaling dulcet tunes from voices penned
by fate, all heaved upon the shoulders of
a solitary Atlas, braced to transcend
the world of judges waiting wolfishly
for my story’s end.