by Wendell Berry

You will be walking some night
in the comfortable dark of your yard
and suddenly a great light will shine
round about you, and behind you
will be a wall you never saw before.
It will be clear to you suddenly
that you were about to escape,
and that you are guilty: you misread
the complex instructions, you are not
a member, you lost your card
or never had one. And you will know
that they have been there all along,
their eyes on your letters and books,
their hands in your pockets,
their ears wired to your bed.
Though you have done nothing shameful,
they will want you to be ashamed.
They will want you to kneel and weep
and say you should have been like them.
And once you say you are ashamed,
reading the page they hold out to you,
then such light as you have made
in your history will leave you.
They will no longer need to pursue you.
You will pursue them, begging forgiveness.
They will not forgive you.
There is no power against them.
It is only candor that is aloof from them,
only an inward clarity, unashamed,
that they cannot reach. Be ready.
When their light has picked you out
and their questions are asked, say to them:
"I am not ashamed." A sure horizon
will come around you. The heron will begin
his evening flight from the hilltop.

It’s time for a rhyme
I hear you chime.
It’s time to hit the beat.

We’re ready to dance
Without a glance,
Pick up those Tyger feet.

Those drums do thump,
Dancers grind and bump,
The party’s in full sway.

Don’t feel like strolling,
Just want to be rollin’
In the scattered hay.

Them guitars are twanging
I’m really panging
To twirl you round and round.

Some like to fight;
I’d rather dance all night
To that raucous rebel sound.

Let’s go.