Martin Luther King Jr.
By Gwendolyn Brooks
A man went forth with gifts.
He was a prose poem.
He was a tragic grace.
He was warm music.
He tried to heal the vivid volcanoes.
His ashes are
reading the world.
His Dream still wishes to anoint
the barricades of faith and of control.
His word still still burns the center of the sun,
above the thousands and the
hundred thousands
The word was Justice. It was spoken.
So it shall be spoken.
So it shall be done.
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