Who is He to thee? Is He dead and rotting with mud? Is He risen and reigning on high? Is He lover and dearest friend? Who He is matters little, if your mind has him in dirt. His life was not spent in vain, yet your heart may grow hard the same. Who is He to thee? Does His voice still tear through the void? Is justice fed in His hands? Are the holes wide enough for your trust? Do you count him fool, or do you count him lover? Answer my friend, but not without thought. For sleep cures not, the guilt of mistrust.