“Why don’t you die?” they asked of me,
Their eyes like locks, no sympathy.
As if my breath offended air,
As if my being shouldn’t dare.
I held their words like stones of lead,
A chorus carved of living dead.
Yet still my heart refused to cease,
It beat in rage, it beat for peace.
Perhaps I live to spite their call,
To watch their towers someday fall.
Perhaps I live with fire inside,
Because my soul has yet to bide.
“Why don’t you die?”—their venom’s cry.
I answer simply: I defy.