The world in transition.

There are walls in my room and stones outside, there are trees and flowers that bloom. There are friends I’ve never met and an end I’m running to. There’s joy sometimes and nothing mostly at noon.

At night I dream, and in grief I scream. Pain becomes a companion and I’m never truly alone. I long for freedom, and slavery asks my name. The department knows my stats and the prison awaits a murderer.

For me there’s life, but so too for you. In me there is light and so too there’s blood. I bleed and plead for meaning behind the bush, but what’s a little now with forever insight?

I wish I knew how to make you feel love, but every time I try I only prove the existence of the black hole in my heart. It longs for power and would probably devour any aspirations of a simpleton dreaming to dream big.

Tonight I’ll read, I’ll learn something new. Eventually I’ll forget, but still I’ll lay claim to everything else but blame. I long to feel shame, but pride tells me that’s lame, because I’ve got an ego to protect and echo to keep intact.

Sorry is for the weak, and sorrow for tomorrow. If I were to unvail the true protest of my spirit, my own existence would be suspect. I search the net for something that will pay. But one day I hope that all our talents will have a price, and that price will bring a value and eventually we will all know that a soul or two we’ve sold, while in it’s place we’ve sowed enough seed to satisfy our evil need.

I assume that’s how it was, when the Earth saw the Heavens. When the cavemen saw the monkey. When the Church saw the heathen. When Da Vinci saw the middle age. When the dollar saw the barter. When democracy saw the monarch. When the car saw the donkey. When industry saw agriculture. When depression saw war, and then Vietnam saw Berlin. And now, as technology sees manual labour, I’m beginning to feel like there’s hope beyond this hole.

I’m going to distinguish myself from reality, until my mind does the same with my foot. Then bacteria will flee from virus, and we will all feel a little different. Because until we accept each other’s roles, the world will always be in transition, and eventually eternity will be divided from never…

and it will be good for whatever good is worth.


  1. I think I get where your feelings are coming from, and instead of saying, like Baraka, all blacks and whites want to, deep down, murder each other, you seem to try to reach the alien shore and make peace between our races; and this would be more like James Baldwin, who explored the possbilities of erotic love between black and white (and bisexuality, too) during the 1960s. Either way, your soul-searching and trial by fire are very admirable. You’ve set yourself an ambitious task, yet at the same time, how in the world can you evade it?

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.