truth BY GWENDOLYN BROOKS And if sun comesHow shall we greet him?Shall we not dread him,Shall we not fear himAfter so lengthy aSession with shade? Though we have wept for him,Though we have prayedAll through the night-years—What if we wake one shimmering morning toHear the fierce hammeringOf his firm knucklesHard on the door? Shall we not shudder?—Shall we not fleeInto the shelter, the dear thick shelterOf the familiarPropitious haze? Sweet is it, sweet is itTo sleep in the coolnessOf snug unawareness. The dark hangs heavilyOver the eyes. Gwendolyn Brooks, “truth” from Blacks. Copyright © 1987 by Gwendolyn Brooks.