I was not; now I am—a few days hence
I shall not be; I fain would look before
And after, but can neither do; some Power
Or lack of power says “no” to all I would.
I stand upon a wide and sunless plain,
Nor chart nor steel to guide my steps aright.
Whene’er, o’ercoming fear, I dare to move,
I grope without direction and by chance.
Some feign to hear a voice and feel a hand
That draws them ever upward thro’ the gloom.
But I—I hear no voice and touch no hand,
Tho’ oft thro’ silence infinite I list,
And strain my hearing to supernal sounds;
Tho’ oft thro’ fateful darkness do I reach,
And stretch my hand to find that other hand.
I question of th’ eternal bending skies
That seem to neighbor with the novice earth;
But they roll on, and daily shut their eyes
On me, as I one day shall do on them,
And tell me not the secret that I ask.
Paul Laurence Dunbar, 1872 – 1906
when he does, his face opens
his eyes beam like moon and stars
In the silence of his voice
no words exist
but the soft hum of an almost
In the enclosed world
of his room
he opens up a huge universe
he creates with letters
found in his new life
forming images that
did not exist before
In the physical restraints
his freedom grows
for true freedom lives inside
nothing free exists in his world
except inner freedom
Not ever was anyone capable
of taking that away
and no one ever will
be able to
He laughs in the knowledge
that his freedom is written
Darren White, 2017
Truth and Absolute Truth
Alone is the actual reality.
It was there before my birth
It is now at present with me
It will be there after my death.
It is but the Truth that I see
I feel I talk about and I am
In Truth only in Truth.
Change your mental setting
If you want to see me feel me.
Albeit nurtured in democracy,
And liking best that state republican
Where every man is Kinglike and no man
Is crowned above his fellows, yet I see,
Spite of this modern fret for Liberty,
Better the rule of One, whom all obey,
Than to let clamorous demagogues betray
Our freedom with the kiss of anarchy.
Wherefore I love them not whose hands profane
Plant the red flag upon the piled-up street
For no right cause, beneath whose ignorant reign
Arts, Culture, Reverence, Honour, all things fade,
Save Treason and the dagger of her trade,
Or Murder with his silent bloody feet.
Oscar Wilde 1854-1900
And now we are living in The Days Of Trump.