And this next thing I'm going to read is not as much of a poem
as it is a policy.
And I want you to take it home with you.
"One Who Knows."
For a man to find out who he is, he must stay in one place
long enough to understand nothing is left behind.
I am the prophet at the edge of burial grounds burning
ceremonial masks, who embraces a gospel so great its joy is
best expressed in silence.
Though my feet are on the ground,
my mind journeys among the shadows
of giants, whose great hands hold no anger, where
the intrepid heartbeat of insects
is cherished, where each man is equally deserving,
though his face remains unseen.
I am the prophet who knows nothing of fear or guile, who
knows no matter what scheme man devises,
nothing can distract the Earth from its resolute path.
I am the man who knows the names and ambitions of those
who preach carnage and wrath, who
knows the terror within such men, who was once such a man.
I am the prophet unscrewing the hinges
from his door, whose only law is love,
the man kneeling to gather his life from gardens
and catacombs.
I remove the stitches from my eyes.
My hands relax and find themselves open.
I breathe columns of light into my lungs.
Angels come to ask me questions.
And when I speak, my heart is on my lips.
Thank you very much, people.
[APPLAUSE]
There are going to be some refreshments around here
any minute if you'll hang around and meet the poets.
Thanks a lot for coming.