A Poet

As I read Augustine's word on Suicide
I read a poet who is half wise.
Impressions made, impressions won
No advice do I give him, or he might shun
His brilliant poesy's way, with airy
Words, and rhymes so fay.
"Condemned to live," the poet feels
And I see Christians everywhere do right now reel.
Augustine's words in the City of God,
Rung true, as this timely message carefully trod
A hopeful vision, when now Rome has awoke,
The plays, the sorrows, the festivals invoke
The gods of a new world, of spirits and vibes
They do make me muse upon suicide.
Yet, this poet he came, and said, "You are condemned to live,"
And a hopeful message he gave, to help me win.