I wish that the color of my skin,
Full of spectral bliss,
Were able to mold the world,
That whatever I touched would
Fill up with sunlight.
I walk the delicate desolation
In the twilight of the people's lives
And they seem so sudden,
Like a brief Dahlia bloomed and gone.
Let me for one moment take
Them to a poet's mind,
Change the climate of their hearts
That they might drink the sun
Of audacious hope
In a balcony of conscious sight,
Sinking deeply into the better humanity,
Let them break the devices
And speak in words what
They have lost to typing and even writing!
Oh for them to know the quiet passions
Of the universe of a poet's mind,
Oh I wish these spectral hands
Could color the world;

It remains a hopeful metaphor.....