"Too often we honor swagger and bluster and wielders of force; too often we excuse those who are willing to build their own lives on the shattered dreams of others. Some Americans who preach non-violence abroad fail to practice it here at home. Some who accuse others of inciting riots have by their own conduct invited them." ( More... ) Actually there are more ways than one to reach the heart. One, we’ve made a catchphrase, the stomach. But this is the least of them. The starved still love, still need, still desire affection, a hand unfolded for them to take, an open smile to veil their throbbing like an umbrella on the beach that holds the searing sun at bay. There are our hands that hold our ache, that grope at serious doubt, that let loose our caged hate like silos of grain. Hands that knowingly embrace friends, that high-five and remember routines formed at youth, our bond with one another, hands reaching for the most in man, his kinship. Our shoulders and elbo
(The Weaver's Song)