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Footprints on the sands of time glow with birthmark each glittering step unshaken and challenging not by yielding to temptation but thirst for truth for the awakening of men for soul-searching
Peace is a nonviolent war
I walked into the classroom. I wrote my name on the board: "Mr. Broom"   A little girl stared at my shirt. I saw she had a black eye. I wondered how she got hurt.  
Trotting through the hot narrow alley, rifle on my back. My companion to my left: Richard, I think. The sound of gunfire boiling in the distance.
I dreamed I was a monk, I dreamed I was a man, I dreamed I was everywhere— everywhere became what I am.
In Selma they start Hand- in- hand With love and warm hearts. To be able to vote and be equal someday This is their cry, To Jesus they pray, On that Bloody Sunday.
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