Of doubts, the world can boast its sure despisers, The men of right or wrong, of black or white, Who hoard up stones, implacable as misers, To cast at shade of grey and slake their spite. So sure are they that pelting small transgressors Will furnish them a shield: ‘You stinking whore!’ ‘You idle brute!’— they set up as confessors, Each warranted to preach God’s truth, God’s law. When one such entered heaven, he derided The slum the angels proffered: ‘Ah,’ they shrilled, ‘But this was the material provided — Your sent us so few bricks with which to build.’ When fools are certain — there all justice ends: Store up your doubts and treasure them as friends.
Mandalay, Mustique March 13, 2007
Poem Published in the following books: Homeless In My Heart