You, there! Just beyond the door!

Hide meek thoughts in the shadows not. 
Trembling limb of accusation, he points.
Staring with two black marbles.
Congealed into hatred,
But seeing not.

If flowers be embers, then they grow from the ashes,
Pressing through the soil to witness this distress.
He, the unmarked!
He, the herald! Flickering hot when the wind acts as bellows.
Measure the worth. 

Lids open and close.
Cast off the ambivalence.
Now there is fervor,
Atop of remembrance.
Use it to strike the final blow to the captured.