Albert Einstein is alleged to have said, “Great spirits have always encountered violent oppostion from mediocre minds.” Over forty years before I read that, I expressed a similar observation at a deeply personal level in this poem:

In dead of night I skulk about
my secret to pursue.
This lonly place will hide my fac
as well as what I do.

I’ve come alone to come alive
and I shall come again,
in hope that on tomorrow’s morn
a brighter sun might spin.

But I wonder at the justice
that seems to be my fate,
that makes me hide
deny the pride
of saying

I create!