How to live brave, and how to still live free
When death comes knocking round at every door,
Asking for me, when I don't know what's me:
These are the things I'm asking more and more.
Philosophers war with the scientists;
Are we cells, souls, synapses, or a joke?
Protesting, we raise ineffectual fists—
Meat-hearts, god-hearts, what matters is they broke.
How can I walk with courage toward the dark
That keeps its secrets still so perfectly?
What freedom can I claim beside the stark
Prerequisite of my mortality?
Questions have I, no answers on my part;
My hands lift skyward with my broken heart.