non-explanation of the simple fact

we are the ones who always bear the blame

for all the anger we have one hard name

clear and precise both noble and exact

too many answers come down to the same

wave of exhaustion so that we must claim

not what we earned but all the goods we lacked

we are the ones who always bear the blame

for what was lost and for the constant shame

that was included in the lost compact

too many answers come down to the same

inauguration of the truth of fame

which we can neither add to nor detract

we are the ones who always bear the the blame

for those who come when we call the right name

but have no thought of what it means to act

too many answers come down to the same

we are the ones who always bear the blame

to speak of valour is no great mistake

when each of us confronts the howling gale

those who are ready when the sandbags fail

know what is meant when city turns to lake

each of them is that moment wide awake

while in their corners all the cowards quail

left with no benefit save their own stale      

as even stoutest bodies bend and shake

words that are spoken in the autumn sun

lose all their purchase during winter's turn

but are the currency of many schools

repenting of their choices no one's done

before they see their youthful wishes burn

and know themselves for ordinary fools

by those who built the towers and raised the sky

the folk who farmed the fields and filled the town

who'd made the horrid trip and did not die

their long hope was back to lost home to fly

but all the horrors made their footsteps slow

while home was lost in the far eastern glow

they had their duties and their constant care

and all the many pains we cannot know

all changed with dessalines at vertières

so much depends upon a simple frown

a gesture or a winking of the eye

to  make disaster or to grant renown

turn all our wishes into one great lie

or  send us each to the last great good-bye

by means of one most massive mortal blow

that bursts the normal cheery human flow

and sends us hurtling to the upper air

until that moment all had seemed too slow

all changed with dessalines at vertières

the human is a move from verb to noun

a chance to prove that we can best rely

upon the one who could not play the clown

but was the stalwart soul who did not cry

under the lash but rather chose to fly

with the fresh dawn and the new morning glow

the day of history when all would know

just what we were and how much we would dare

to do when we came up from down below

all changed with dessalines at vertières

prince you have heard your men were far too slow

to face our wrath and take the angry blow

that meant our freedom in the open air

do not be angry for you could not know

the outcome would be more than a tableau

all changed with dessalines at vertières

no evidence the world is bent in shape

a bluish globe with wooly white of cloud

the mountains form a contrast sharp and proud

against the sea we note the golden cape

while in the sky dark birds seem to escape

the planetary force while winds are loud

above the foam and yet we are uncowed

though eyes are open and all mouths agape

there is a reason we have reached this place

and taken stock at the appropriate time

for our authority to be compelled

into new channels and a different space

with better thought and clearer paradigm

now that the party’s over and trial’s held

no matter what we say we do not feel

the pain of others right inside each heart

instead we wait the turning of the wheel

for one more challenge for the last appeal

which was presaged right at the very start

no matter what we say we do not feel

our hopes and urges have been brought to heel

and the last hero laid upon a cart

instead we wait the turning of the wheel

to see the message and to take our meal

in comfort all who come here will depart

no matter what we say we do not feel

we will start forward and then we will reel

back down in sign that we have lacked the art

instead we wait the turning of the wheel

for what is good the last hard spring of steel

yet still the while some fool will strain to fart

no matter what we say we do not feel

instead we wait the turning of the wheel

for good or evil we have reached an end

of human battles and the stars portend

no better indications as the nights

close in we note their distant blinking lights

as symbols we might faintly comprehend

when we are whole but what the worlds intend

is not a matter that we have to rights

the argument of workers in the day

or farmers when the wind upsets the trees

is much the same as when we all were young

to bring about the work without delay

ignore the rain and not yield to the breeze

since a strong back outdoes a silver tongue