Creating Fate
In places where buildings hang on edges of rain clouds
it is for men to fantasize,
but every man’s reality differs
The white water carries souls who not long ago dreamt
the dream, the hope of pioneers,
the nightmare of different shades
I’ve walked cold nights on Route Twenty-seven,
sat in lectures with deprivation pulling on heavy eye lids,
and vision me with my head in rapture while boxed in
with iron curtains evoking pangs of democracy and psychological shackles
The dread of the past is ever present; a teacher to worthy scholars
Hearts are known by two
Tongues bestow weight to heavy spirits;
Openings are provided for such
Judgments come in distinct tones,
and when the down is counted out the angels came with bells
On park benches we sat with my reality
We got up
I stretched structures,
and exercised wits
Walk now with heads in cloud nine,
but be mindful of the shaded area and the blinding light,
the pallid light
No taste is superior;
Coercion and mobility,
such are the branches of wealth
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