BEYOND MY SOLITUDE

Beyond my solitude is another solitude, 
and to him who dwells therein my aloneness is a crowded market-place
and my silence a confusion of sounds. 
Too young am I and too restless to seek that above-solitude. 
The voices of yonder valley still hold my ears 
and its shadows bar my way and I cannot go. 
Beyond these hills is a grove of enchantment 
and to him who dwells therein my peace is but a whirlwind 
and my enchantment an illusion. 
Too young am I and too riotous to seek that sacred grove.
 The taste of blood is clinging in my mouth, 
and the bow and the arrows of my fathers yet linger in my hand 
and I cannot go. 
Beyond this burdened self lives my freer self; 
and to him my dreams are a battle fought in twilight 
and my desires the rattling of bones. 
Too young am I and too outraged to be my freer self. 
And how shall I become my freer self 
unless I slay my burdened selves, 
or unless all men become free? 
How shall the eagle in me soar against the sun 
until my fledglings leave the nest 
which I with my own beak have built for them?