a frank discussion

each word we speak has measured length and weight
there's nothing more that can be done this hour
each moment comes and light falls on the flower
meaning combines though message comes too late
the signal's overwhelmed by its own large freight
yet when we're asked why we've not yet turned sour
the response that we make won't have the power
to push our last hope through the starting gate
none of our actions come from thorough thought
there is no avocation that we've truly chosen
all of our hopes require we stand and speak
not what we want but only the things we ought
to utter as free folk but yet our hearts are frozen
by all our memories and that will make us weak