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