(« Newton » by William Blake)
it was a path, a road, a way forward
it was not just any other day
yet, in a sense, it could have been
had it been the unusual sunshine
the melodies of the birds
or something in the air
lures material
she now knew empty
she had chosen progress
it had become possible
it was a number, a goal, an ideal
it was not just any other whim
yet, in a sense, how could it be otherwise ?
had it been the many disappointments
the memories of defeat
or having crossed a threshold
liars promises
he had seen through
he had chosen loyalty
it had become feasible
it was a knowledge, a lifestyle, a necessity
it was not just any other alternative
yet, in a sense, there were always options
had it been the discourses of the pundits
the words of the seers
or a quiet recognition
songs of sirens
they had resisted
they had chosen patience
it had become attainable
it was a vision, a sentiment, a conviction
it was not just any other dream
yet, it a sense, what else could it be ?
had it been the flash of understanding
the rush of inspiration
or a surge of hope at the eleventh hour
three little words
we had remembered
we had chosen perseverance
it had become inevitable
beyond the eleventh
later but not too late
unrest until unchained
even past fifty-nine
willing to be ourselves
in time to help ourselves
longing to find ourselves
learning to love ourselves
vying for our freedom
or suffer status quo
the choice had been easy
enough, we had shouted !
beginning on this day
liberty was our way
our space became our own
consciously, we had grown
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