BY MAYA ANGELOU
Without their fierce devotion
We are fragile and forlorn,
Stumbling briefly, among the stars.
We and our futures belong to them
Exquisitely, our beliefs and our
Breaths are made tangible in their love.
By their extravagant spirits, they draw us
From the safe borders
And into the center of the center ring
There they urge dance upon our
Leaden feet
And to our sullen hearts,
Bright laughter.
Not the crowd's roar nor the gasped
Breath of the timorous can stay their mission.
There is no moderation in their nature.
They spit upon their fingers
To test the wind of history,
They slip into our bonds and steal us
Away from the slavery of cowardice.
They skin back their thin lips over fanged teeth and
Rocks in hand, in our presence
Face down our Goliath.
These mothers, fathers, pastors and priests,
These Rabbis, Imams and gurus,
Teach us by their valor and mold us with their courage.
Without their fierce devotion
We are only forlorn and only fragile
Stumbling briefly, among the stars.
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