Architects Of Progress

(« Newton » by William Blake)

it was a path, a road, a way forward
it was not just any other day
yet, in a sense, it could have been

had it been the unusual sunshine
the melodies of the birds
or something in the air

lures material
she now knew empty

she had chosen progress
it had become possible

it was a number, a goal, an ideal
it was not just any other whim
yet, in a sense, how could it be otherwise ?

had it been the many disappointments
the memories of defeat
or having crossed a threshold

liars promises
he had seen through

he had chosen loyalty
it had become feasible

it was a knowledge, a lifestyle, a necessity
it was not just any other alternative
yet, in a sense, there were always options

had it been the discourses of the pundits
the words of the seers
or a quiet recognition

songs of sirens
they had resisted

they had chosen patience
it had become attainable

it was a vision, a sentiment, a conviction
it was not just any other dream
yet, it a sense, what else could it be ?

had it been the flash of understanding
the rush of inspiration
or a surge of hope at the eleventh hour

three little words
we had remembered

we had chosen perseverance
it had become inevitable

beyond the eleventh
later but not too late
unrest until unchained
even past fifty-nine

willing to be ourselves
in time to help ourselves
longing to find ourselves
learning to love ourselves

vying for our freedom
or suffer status quo
the choice had been easy
enough, we had shouted !

beginning on this day
liberty was our way
our space became our own
consciously, we had grown