02 Jan 2017 – Acedia

They sold you graphite rods
and said “Don’t Care so much!
All Joy’s a grim facade –
all Love’s a suckers crutch!”

Generating heat
you sold back to the grid,
that steady workhorse heart
kept tamped as it was bid.

Fitted for a harness,
warned “don’t make a mess!”,
you never scuffed your shoes,
you never soiled your dress.

So cold you thought you’d freeze –
though that machinery hummed.
Why bother getting dressed
when every day feels numb?

Be Love! Be white-hot! Burn –
while you can still draw breath!
Don’t fear the redline’s risks –
those graphite rods are Death!