Until now, I knew I possessed nothing
Damned by decrees of my own
Selfishness, I pretended
Behind a circus show of reason
At the Ball of tantalized feeling
But now, I know the way the world ends
Whatever else I might succumb to
It will be the poetry of freedom
Without rhetoric, or tricks of lying
Or slang speech particular to my times
Until now, I hid in incredible musical scales
Behind melodies, beneath the chorus
All poets pick themselves out of rivers
I’m half-deceived, by the lovers who left me
Because I was nothing but a poet
But it’s my first white wave of climbing hope
The last word I say before my doom
Whatever else, poetry is my first freedom
So don’t ridicule me for loving a kind of art
My dream is an impatient cadence pure
That gives me resurrection, when life
Offers me none, these flaming parenthesis
Have become my means of transcending you.
Wuji Seshat 