Hate Is A Dead Thing. Who Of

For The Criminal Who Is Weak And Poor The Narrow Cell Of Death Awaits; But Honor And Glory Await The Rich Who Conceal Their Crimes Behind Their Gold And Silver And Inherited Glory.

Thus With My Lips Have I Denounced You, While My Heart, Bleeding Within Me, Called You Tender Names. It Was Love Lashed By Its Own Self That Spoke. It Was Pride Half Slain That Fluttered In The Dust. It Was My Hunger For Your Love That Raged From The Housetop, While My Own Love, Kneeling In Silence, Prayed Your Forgiveness.

For What Is It To Die But To Stand Naked In The Wind And To Melt Into The Sun? And What Is It To Cease Breathing But To Free The Breath From Its Restless Tides, That It May Rise And Expand And Seek God Unencumbered? Only When You Drink From The River Of Silence Shall You Indeed Sing. And When You Have Reached The Mountaintop,then You Shall Begin To Climb. And When The Earth Shal Claim Your Limbs,then Shall You Truly Dance.

They Give That They May Live, For To Withhold Is To Perish.

Yet You Shall Not Deplore Having Known Blindness, Nor Regret Having Been Deaf. For In That Day You Shall Know The Hidden Purposes In All Things. And You Shall Bless Darkness As You Would Bless Light.