White Houses

Your door is shut against my tightened face,
And I am sharp as steel with discontent;
But I possess the courage and the grace
To bear my anger proudly and unbent.
The pavement slabs burn loose beneath my feet,
A chafing savage, down the decent street;
And passion rends my vitals as I pass,
Where boldly shines your shuttered door of glass.
Oh, I must search for wisdom every hour,
Deep in my wrathful bosom sore and raw,
And find in it the superhuman power
To hold me to the letter of your law!
Oh, I must keep my heart inviolate
Against the potent poison of your hate.

by Claude McKay

Comments (3)

Sylva Portoian (11/4/2011 3: 39: 00 PM) Please read this poem It respires from Black Skin But from a real White Heart Forwarded to The White House Those who respect the Criminals And neglect Innocent races Who Can't possess guns And never like to kill... Who can't protect them selves From Scavengers Those slayers have countless Hidden scimitars...
In another place The heading says 'The White House'
This is one of the best English poems That inspired me to write... Why it is ignored on this site..? No comments No Cry... No praise I can't understand, why...! I say to Claude, ' Don't keep Your heart Inviolate The people neglect your pure heart They vote for others Who said to be famous But after I read your stanzas I felt readers are unfair Lost sense To understand your mind...!