Distinction breeds ostracism,
Uniqueness carves crucifixes,
Fear-soaked minds warp society
'til evolution is tarred and feathered as a myth.
Prejudice martyrs creativity and ingenuity with tearless passion.
I was, am, will be afraid of prejudicial certainty,
But will not yield,
No, not my art,
Nor my truth,
Praise or prejudice matters little to me, personally,
At this late hour,
But the children, with make believe innocence,
How many of their imaginary friends will die of prejudice this day?
And, once dead,
Who is alive enough to resurrect them?
-From "Voices of the Dark" (1991)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem