I'm not certain what it means to love,
in a country that freely flings itself,
into sweaty palms of pestilence.
We live in the land of the free,
but is there room in the inn,
for those brave enough to choose life?
Or at least a meaningful death?
I'd much rather observe than moralize,
too often the weight leads me to agonize.
How can so many define,
life's meaning as simply breathing,
and not something more divine?