Clash

The master speaks, the chorus sings;
         His words hold fast to lies unseen
         And truth seems only but a dream,
Clutching still to ending things.

A sea of flesh, of faces, beam,
         Looks of hate, of joy, despair,
         Free the flames and choke the air;
With hope, a meek and foolish gleam.

With virtue’s dread, my soul to dare;
         Shiver, shake, and shun the gods,
         Made fierce and called by human odds,
As light and time and death are fair.