I will write to an old friend and wish him well, said I.
Why? , they asked me. Why…I echoed and could not answer
I turned my back and it was stoned,
And their laughter rang through the ground beneath my ear.
And my soul cried.
But good ideas have been left on the dusty shelves of monestaries, and saints have been strengthened with mud and spittle before them.
As Pearl Harbor succumbs to the ranks of Sparta and ancient Egypt
I will rise up to cast off the dirt of my confusion
And the salt of my tears.
Farewell to the storms of insecurities and ill-will.
Hello! To the sunshine of tranquility and peace.