Musing on roses and revolutions,
I saw night close down on the earth like a great dark wing,
and the lighted cities were like tapers in the night,
and I heard the lamentations of a million hearts
regretting life and crying for the grave,
and I saw the Negro lying in the swamp with his face
blown off,
and the northern cities with his manhood maligned and felt
the writhing
of his viscera like that of a hare hunted down or the
bear at bay,
and I saw men working and taking joy in their work
and embracing the hard eyed whore with joyless excitement
and lying with wives and virgins in impotence
And as I groped in darkness
and felt the pain of million,
gradually, like day driving night across the continent,
I saw dawn upon them like the sun a vision
of a time when all men walk proudly through the earth
and the bombs and missiles lie at the bottom of the ocean
like the bones of dinosaurs buried under the shale of eras,
and men strive with each other not for power or the
accumulation of paper
but in joy create for others the house, the poem, the game
of athletic beauty.
Then washed in the brightness of this vision,
I saw how in its radiance would grow and be nourished
and suddenly
burst into terrible and splendid bloom
the blood-red flower of revolution…
Reprinted by permission Broadside Press.
Reference: Dudley Randall
