Peace Be Still
Every time I hear King speak
I feel a rumble.
Every time I hear King speak
my soul stands up.
Every time his oceanic voice ripples
that fist sized organ in my chest
quakes a pleasant storm.
Even from a t.v. screen, his projected presence incites a righteous riot in my soul.
When I hear King, I wanna be better, do better stand, sit and act all at the same time.
I wanna sit at the altar of his feet and listen to King, like I listen to my mama and my grand mama, like when I know they’ve got something precious to say that will still my restless soul.
So, when I go through those inevitable shadowlands, the quiet slopes of alone or in those places where we haven’t shakened Selma, Birmingham or Little Rock from our bones and we proceed to press present day struggles upon old bones.
I say Martin lend us your quilt called, peace.
Surround us with the fervor and the fever of your faith.
Lend us your hands outstretched like forces of the healing sun, Lend us your spirit legs, so we can sprint to the mountaintop and all shout "free at last, free at last, thank God almighty we are free at last."
Even in this quiet hour of our manmade killing in this country where God’s water is stirred,
Let the baritone of your voice sing peace.
Let the timbre of your heart beat peace.
Let the glow of your hope shine peace.
Even with the dogs loosed, the hoses aimed, the tear gas spewed, nooses strung, and billy clubs hammer at our unshakeable dignity, let us remember though they killed your body, they never touched your soul; and you walked like
the King you were, you echoed like a force of nature, you resounded like the rolling sea.
In these weary times wash over us
drench us with your voice, your song
and the treble of your message
of both pain and beauty.
Robe us in this complicated fabric
woven by a simple thread
trailing blessed peace
weaving the belief
singing, we shall overcome.
we shall overcome
we shall.
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