Sweet Day Of Emancipation Poem by Ian Hanson

I wrote down my anger
on every wall and every floorboard,
for, when you lie as oft as I, you must remind yourself
of your true feelings every morning in
everything you see.

With every smile I was in danger
of becoming better and leaving my blaze behind.
Therefore I frowned in every private moment
that was given, and yelled continuously into
the silence of my thoughts.

Slowly I morphed into the monsters that
chased me in my younger days,
and I became aware that those were not
nightmares, but visions of the dark, red future.

I carried discontent and frustration too close to my
chest, and too often, so that with the passing of
days I found that I no longer held the beasts,
but rather, the beasts cradled me near their bosoms
and sang into my ear the catechism of hatred.

But what could be done? To give in would
be to forget a dream, therefore I remained
a weary, tortured soul until the day
of my freedom. The sweet day of emancipation.